


The Murder of Oakwater

by NickelModelTales



Series: The Oakwaters [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 1950s, Class Differences, Detectives, F/F, F/M, Hypnotism, Maids, Master/Servant, Multi, Murder Mystery, Period-Typical Sexism, Porn With Plot, Sexual Slavery, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23147668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickelModelTales/pseuds/NickelModelTales
Summary: An erotic hypnosis murder mystery.  (Yes!)  Adelle, a beautiful young French maid at Stockwood Manor, is hypnotized and seduced by her employer’s lecherous guests.  But when a killer strikes in the great mansion, will Adelle’s hypnotic susceptibility make her the prime suspect?
Series: The Oakwaters [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663933
Kudos: 12





	1. Stockwood Manor

**_Albany, New York_ **

**_July, 1954_ **

“ ** _That’s_** the uniform?” Adelle wailed, aghast.

Thérèse and the other two maids looked up in surprise. Perhaps they had been wearing the outfit for so long, they didn’t realize how little it covered?

“That’s the uniform,” Mrs. Clatchet, the housekeeper, said in annoyance. “That’s what all the maids wear here at Stockwood Manor. And you’ll be wearing it too, missy, or else find yourself on a boat back to France.”

Adelle couldn’t help but put a hand over her mouth in shock. She’d been warned that the Stockwood maids wore, ah, **_revealing_** uniforms. But the minidresses before her were positively obscene!

Thérèse, the beautiful head maid, straightened, inadvertently showing off the little outfit from head to toe. The maid’s uniform was a small, jet-black dress, awfully tight around the waist and torso. The front was cut low, very very **_very_** low, giving an observer an expansive view of the top of the maid’s breasts, collarbone, and bare shoulders. The sleeves were puffy and short, exposing much of the maid’s graceful arms. There was a skirt that couldn’t have been nine inches long, and which was propped up by several layers of white, frilly petticoats underneath. Poor Thérèse looked like a human feather duster from her head down to her hips. And because the skirt was so short, Adelle could see all of Thérèse’s long, shapely legs, clad in thin black pantyhose. On the maid’s feet were shiny, black pump shoes. A black choker of lace around Thérèse’s graceful throat completed the outfit.

“ _Sacre bleu!_ ” Adelle exclaimed, horrified. “ _Madame_ , you didn’t say-“

“Oh, come now, girl,” Mrs. Clatchet bristled. “It’s the modern era! And don’t tell me maids in your native France wear more.” She waggled her finger. “I’ve been to Paris. I know better.”

The women were in the servants’ common room, deep within the first basement of Stockwood Manor. The little chamber was drab but cozy, with ancient hardwood floors, worn furniture (mostly couches and chairs set around a long table), and even a small bookshelf. There were no windows, so oil lamps had been hung from the ceiling.

As Mrs. Clatchet lectured, the other two maids, Vivienne and Léonette, discreetly excused themselves. Both women were, Adelle noted, beautiful in face and body.

“Perhaps I should get Miss Adelle situated, Mrs. Clatchet?” Thérèse offered, moving to the young woman’s side. “It can be hard being the new girl, you know.”

The housekeeper, an older, plump woman in her late forties and wearing the ugliest black dress Adelle had ever seen, vehemently shook her head. “Not before we review **_The Rules_** ,” she declared. Glaring at Adelle, she began counting on her fingers. “ ** _Never_** look at Mr. Oakwater or any member of the Family. **_Never_** speak to Mr. Oakwater or any member of the Family, unless spoken to first. **_Never_** speak of Mr. Oakwater or the Family outside of this house. And finally…” The plump little woman drew herself up. “…never, ever, **_EVER_** enter the Master Bedroom Suite up the third floor. Those are Mr. Oakwater Senior’s private quarters, and he alone selects who may enter.”

Taken aback by Mrs. Clatchet’s gruff demeanor, Adelle merely nodded and replied, “ _Oui, Madame_.”

“She’ll be fine,” assured Thérèse, taking Adelle by the arm. “I’ll take her on my rounds today.”

“Harrumph…!” replied Mrs. Clatchet.

**** **** ****

Constructed in 1893, Stockwood Manor was a dominating mansion, designed in the mock Victorian Gothic style. The vast house had four floors, two subbasements, a stable, a twenty-car garage, Olympic pool, tennis courts, three greenhouses, and sprawling, carefully manicured gardens. Just three miles south of Albany city limits, the house was easily the most opulent building for miles around.

The ground floor alone was more majestic then most museums. As Adelle and Thérèse moved through the house, Adelle couldn’t stop craning her neck to gape at the statues, medieval tapestries, portraits, and painted landscapes that decorated every room. The Great Hall, with its high ceilings, iron chandeliers, Roman columns, and Renaissance tiled floors, was especially eye-popping.

“My God, I’m afraid to touch anything,” Adelle murmured to Thérèse, speaking in French.

“You’ll get used to it,” smiled the head maid. “Working here is not so bad, you’ll see. Mrs. Clatchet likes to try and scare you, but don’t mind her.” She paused. “You are… twenty years old?”

“Nineteen,” Adelle replied, somewhat defensively. “But I’ve been in service before.”

Thérèse nodded disarmingly. “We know. I’m just making conversation.”

Adelle frowned. “Are all the paintings here of young, naked women?”

“Most are,” Thérèse replied dryly. “As are the statues. Mr. Oakwater Senior, God bless him, he… ah, appreciates the feminine form.”

“Then that explains this outfit,” grumbled Adelle, adjusting her choker once again. The maid’s uniform was tight and itchy, and she could feel cool air on her legs, bare arms, and the underneath of her tush.

“You’ll get used to that too,” Thérèse said casually. She added, “You’re a very beautiful girl, with a wonderful figure. They’ll love you here.”

“Thanks,” Adelle replied. She was fairly certain that she’d just been complimented.

The far end of the Great Hall opened out into the Foyer, and then to the tall front doors of the mansion. As the two maids approached, workmen in white jumpsuits were carrying in tall vases of white orchids. The men set the vases off to the side, ogled the young women, then left.

“Ah, the wedding planners said these would be arriving today,” Thérèse remarked happily, admiring the very fragrant blooms. “But I don’t know if they’ve made final selections on what to use in the ceremony.”

“A wedding ceremony?” Adelle asked.

“Ah, yes,” replied Thérèse, delicately cupping one orchid with her hand. “Oh, aren’t these just lovely? Mr. Oakwater Senior is getting married again, in September. To his third wife.”

“Three wives?” said Adelle repeated. “Good God…!”

“Shh,” warned Thérèse glancing about quickly. There was no-one else in the Great Hall. “Yes, three wives. I don’t know the full family history, but Mr. Oakwater Senior – that’s Charles Wilson Oakwater II, officially – had three sons from the first marriage. You’ll have to learn everyone’s names and how they liked to be served.”

“Wow,” Adelle marveled.

“The three oldest sons are all adults now, and out on their own,” Thérèse commented, admiring another orchid. “Come, we should continue on to the kitchen. Mr. Oakwater will be expecting his afternoon tea.”

**** **** ****

Moving briskly, Thérèse led Adelle through the Dining Room, which was quite wide and contained a massive table for twenty people. An elderly footman was carefully setting a tablecloth over the table; he took no notice of the young women.

“So only Mr. Oakwater lives in the house?” Adelle said, still processing what Thérèse had told her.

“Well, after the wedding, I’m sure the new Mrs. Oakwater will move in,” the head maid replied. “I think she also had some children from a previous marriage… but I’m not sure.”

“Ah,” said Adelle. “So, will I meet Mr. Oakwater later today?”

“Meet Mr. Oakwater?” Thérèse said sharply. “Oh, no. Only three servants are ever permitted to approach him: Mr. Woolsby, our butler, Mrs. Clatchet, and myself. It is likely you will never meet him.”

“Never?” Adelle echoed, certain she’d misheard. “How is that possible?”

The two women passed through a pair of doors into the Stockwood kitchen. This was a large, white-tiled room, very tidy, with neatly-organized pantries and brick ovens. Six identical refrigerators lined the far wall. A short, dumpy-looking woman in a white uniform and apron was kneading dough on one of the counters. She flicked a disinterested glance at the two maids.

“Hello, Mrs. Plumm,” Thérèse said cheerfully to the cook. Mrs. Plumm ignored the salutation.

As Thérèse and Adelle moved to the other end of the kitchen, Adelle found herself studying the cook closely. “That woman’s a mute!” she murmured to Thérèse, in French.

“Why… yes!” Thérèse confirmed, impressed. “How did you know?”

“She has a small scar on her throat,” said Adelle. “From when she had surgery long ago, I’d guess.”

Thérèse nodded in admiration. “You’re quite observant, my dear. Yes, the poor woman never speaks, bless her. But she’s an excellent chef.”

“Ah,” Adelle said with interest. “So… she must get on very well with Mr. Oakwater, right?”

Thérèse set a kettle on one of the stoves, then lit the burner. “One of the things you must understand,” she said delicately and in a low voice, “is that Mr. Oakwater Senior is… ah, let’s say he’s **_reclusive_**. In his youth, I believe he traveled quite a bit. But nearly died from malaria in Africa. The experience scarred him, and now he lives up on the third floor, in the Master Bedroom Suite. He never leaves.”

“No!” exclaimed Adelle before she could stop herself. “Never?”

“Never,” the head maid affirmed. She shrugged. “Its his way.”

Dumbfounded, Adelle could only respond, “…huh.”

Thérèse gave a knowing look. “I’d advise you to not think about all this too much. The Oakwaters are a very proud, very demanding family. They have many quirks. Serving them means learning to adjust accordingly.”

Adelle nodded quickly. A life in service meant dedicating oneself to someone else’s comfort… and keeping your opinions to yourself.

“I still remember when… Ooo!” Thérèse exclaimed.

Adelle followed the older maid’s gaze. On the far counter, an opened bottle of wine and a used crystal goblet rested on a serving tray.

Thérèse scurried over, seizing the bottle. She scanned the label, and her beautiful face lit up. “Ah, an amontillado sherry!” she exclaimed, excited. “Shall we?”

Adelle shot a nervous glance at Mrs. Plumm, who was still kneading that dough.

“Oh, its fine,” Thérèse said haughtily, plucking stemless crystal wine glasses from a nearby cabinet. “Mr. Oakwater enjoys his wine, but he never drinks more than a glass at mealtime. What he doesn’t want is supposed to be tossed out… but not if I can sample it first!”

With a conspiratorial giggle, Thérèse poured small amounts of the dark red spirit into each glass. She took one, and handed the other to Adelle.

“Cheers!” the head maid beamed. Adelle grinned back, unable to resist Thérèse’s infectious delight.

Both maids sipped.

“Hmm,” mused Thérèse. “What do you taste? I think… Hazelnut? A little apple? And maybe rum spice…” She licked her lips. “…and **_honey_**. Mmm…!”

“It’s a little dry,” Adelle observed, then quietly coughed.

“Well, of course its dry,” laughed Thérèse. “It’s a sherry, silly!” When Adelle stared at her, Thérèse shrugged in a sheepish way. “We’ve all become wine experts here, what can I tell you?”

Adelle grinned. She liked Thérèse. When she had begun a career in service, Adelle had been warned, “ _Watch out for the head maid! She’ll be a jealous, uptight bitch. She’ll bark orders at you, and scheme to make your life miserable._ ”

Watching Thérèse, it was impossible to apply those words now. Stockwood’s head maid had a kind smile and an unassuming manner that made Adelle feel quite comfortable. Thérèse was also quite beautiful, with large, brown eyes, sandy brown hair, high cheekbones, and despite her young age, a motherly disposition. It was impossible not to like her.

The tea kettle began to whistle. Thérèse set down her sherry glass, and quickly switched off the burner. “Ah, get me the milk and sugar from over there, will you?”

Thérèse’s expert hands were already transferring the hot water into a prepared teapot. “We’ll head up to the third floor, and you’ll wait outside the suite while I serve Mr. Oakwater.”

Adelle couldn’t suppress her curiosity. “…what’s he like?” she asked slyly.

Thérèse smiled tightly. “Mr. Oakwater? Well, he’s…” She paused, thinking. “He’s genuinely the most interesting man I’ve ever met.”

The tray was arranged neatly. “There,” Thérèse said with satisfaction. “So after, you and I should tour the rest of the house. I still need to show you the parlor, library, smoking-room, map room, study, ballroom, upstairs salon, conservatory, breakfast nook, lounge, guest suite, business offices, and all twenty-one bedrooms. And perhaps the stables.”

Worried, the head maid glanced at Adelle’s legs. “You are in shape, no? We have a lot of walking ahead of us.”

**** **** ****

Adelle spent most of her first month at Stockwood Manor getting lost. Oh, the ground floor was simple enough to navigate, assuming you could find your way back to the Great Hall. But once you wandered down the side corridors or ascended the Grand Staircase, it was easy to lose your bearings.

“I keep telling you,” Thérèse said to Adelle with a patient smile, “the house has north, west, and east wings. If you’re ever lost, simply follow the trimmings in the carpet back to the Main Atrium. And then from there, you’ll realize where you are.”

Easy for her to say. Adelle thought all the trimmings in the paneled corridors looked identical.

But gradually, she learned to navigate by using Mr. Oakwater’s gaudy artwork as landmarks. Heading to the map room? Up the stairs, left at the “ _Italian Nude Reclining on Couch_ ” portrait, past the statue of naked Aphrodite, then a right by the painting of the young woman bathing. Going to the study? Down the Great Hall, right at “ _Young Ladies Dancing Without Clothes,_ ” another right at “ _Study of Nude Female Model,_ ” then left, then a second right at the other “ _Study of Nude Female Model,_ ” the one with the short, cropped hair. Or perhaps you seek the drawing room? One more naked lady painting past the study.

There were other distinctive pictures. Mr. Oakwater Senior took much pride in his family’s history, and there were framed photographs depicting events in his father’s life. One, just outside the library, actually had a little plaque in brass: **_Charles Wilson Oakwater I opens his first coal mine. August 19, 1874._**

Adelle memorized the art, determined to master Stockwood’s corridors no matter what. And she was a quick study.

“See?” Thérèse said proudly when Adelle fetched an encyclopedia from the library in under five minutes. “You’re getting the hang of this place.”

**** **** ****

On most days, Stockwood Manor was silent. Adelle observed Mrs. Clatchet, the other three maids, Woolsby, the ancient butler, four elderly footmen, and the ever-silent Mrs. Plumm. The maids were all imported from France; Woolsby and the footmen were from England. Mrs. Plumm never spoke, so no-one had any idea what land she called home.

Occasionally, men in business suits would arrive at the house to visit Mr. Oakwater. Business executives from the Oakwater companies, accountants, bankers, lawyers, or politicians would ring the front bell, and be warmly greeted by Woolsby. Typically, Adelle would be asked to take the gentlemen’s coats and escort them to either the business offices or even to the doors of Mr. Oakwater’s suite. The men always stared at Adelle’s body, but she quickly became indifferent to their leering.

“Why do all these men come?” she finally asked Thérèse. The two young women were folding freshly-washed sheets in the expansive Laundry Room.

“Oh, Mr. Oakwater conducts most of his business by telegraph and telephone,” the head maid explained. “But I think he likes to summon his underlings here every now and then, just to look them in the eye. Remind them who holds the leash.”

“Underlings?” Adelle said, floored. “We hosted Senator Hawkins last week!”

“Who do you think buys the Senator’s votes?” replied Thérèse, a knowing glint in her eye.

Adelle folded up another topsheet and shook her head in wonder. The universe of Charles Wilson Oakwater II was strange, indeed. One question still nagged at her, though.

“What about the wedding?” she asked.

Thérèse fluffed out a pillowcase. “What about it?”

“Mr. Oakwater is getting married next month,” Adelle pointed out. “But I’ve never seen his fiancée. Does she live in the Master Suite, too?”

“Oh,” smiled Thérèse. “No. Mr. Oakwater’s beloved is in Europe, selling off her family properties before she moves into Stockwood Manor permanently. She comes from some money, I’ve heard.”

“And she’s a very accomplished woman,” Thérèse added. “Due back any day now, I believe. When she arrives, **_then_** the wedding plans will accelerate. God bless.”

**** **** ****

The front doorbell chimed, announcing someone was on the front terrace. Adelle happened to be in the Great Hall, alone.

Protocol dictated that Woolsby the butler was supposed to answer the door and receive all guests. However, the stoic old fellow was no-where to be seen. Adelle bit her lip, wondering what to do.

The bell rang again, insistently.

 _Well, that tears it_ , the young maid thought. She set down her feather duster, then hurried to the grand double doors.

Standing on the front step was a tall, prim woman of perhaps thirty-five. Elegant and refined, the woman wore a sleek, red overcoat over a conservative business dress. Her shoes matched the dress. The woman’s black hair was short, but carefully arranged. And her eyes were a piercing dark green, which scanned Adelle in less than a second. She held a small, slender purse.

Behind the woman, out on the driveway, Adelle could see a glossy black towncar idling. The driver was watching both women intently.

But the lady strode right into the house, her head held high. With graceful movement, she slipped out of her coat and handed it to Adelle.

“You’re the new girl, I take it?” she asked coolly. The lady spoke in a thick, upper-crust Boston accent. “Pray tell, what is your name, darling?”

“Adelle, _Madame_ ,” the maid answered.

“Adelle,” the woman replied, opening her purse. “Well, welcome to Stockwood Manor. I’m sure Thérèse has taken you under her wing?”

“Why yes, thank you, _Madame_ ,” the teenage servant replied. She shut the front door then tucked the coat into the hall closet. As she did this, the woman produced a cigarette and cigarette holder. She looked at Adelle expectantly.

“Well?” the woman asked plainly. “Don’t you have a light?”

Unfortunately, Adelle did not. “Oh, er, sorry, _Madame_ ,” she apologized.

The ends of the woman’s mouth turned down, but she did not complain. Instead, her intent gaze flicked over the Great Hall. She did not gape in wonder at the art or the interior design, having obviously been inside Stockwood Manor many times before.

 _So this is the future Mrs. Oakwater_ , Adelle thought. It was the only explanation as to why the woman felt so at home.

Meanwhile, a side door opened, and Woolsby appeared, looking red-faced and stricken. Moving as quickly as he could, the old butler shuffled toward to the foyer.

The black-haired woman nodded at the latest batch of floral arrangements, arranged not far away. “Plans for the wedding are proceeding, I see,” she remarked casually to Adelle.

“ _Oui, Madame,_ ” the maid nodded. She offered a small smile. “And may I congratulate you? I am sure your wedding will be a joyous one.”

The woman’s face turned cold.

“Ms. Vesper, Ms. Vesper… how lovely to… see you again,” Woolsby gasped, drawing up. “I do apologize… I was detained.” He huffed for breath, looking quickly between the two women. “I trust… Miss Adelle has… seen to your needs?”

“Miss Adelle needs to spend more time learning from Thérèse,” the woman replied, anger in her voice.

Woolsby’s expression went slack. “Oh…” he quailed, “I, er-“

“Never mind,” snapped Ms. Vesper, waving a dismissive hand. “I’ll see my own way to the Master Suite. Charles is expecting me, of course.”

“Of course, ma’am…” the butler wheezed. But the icy Ms. Vesper was already striding to the Grand Staircase.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Woolsby shot a dark glance at Adelle. “Do not answer the door ever again,” he admonished.

**** **** ****

“What did I do wrong?” poor Adelle asked Thérèse.

It was the end of the day, and most of the manor were asleep in their beds. The two maids were in the servant’s common room, extinguishing the oil lamps. Whenever they were alone, the two ladies conversed in French.

“So… tell me again what happened?” Thérèse prodded.

Adelle related the entire story. At the mention of Ms. Vesper’s name, Thérèse sucked in a breath of alarm.

“Oh dear,” she lamented. “Ms. Vesper isn’t Mr. Oakwater Senior’s fiancée; she’s his mistress.”

Right away, Adelle felt a cannonball drop into her stomach.

“ ** _Mistress?_** ” the young maid wailed. “But… Are you sure?”

“Quite sure,” Thérèse said grimly. She looked thoughtful. “Ms. Vesper is a very intelligent lady. She’s a doctor of some kind, working with New York state government, I think? I’m not sure what she does, but she somehow met Mr. Oakwater when he was lobbying the governor for something. She’s been a regular visitor to his suite for over a year now.”

“His mistress…!” Adelle repeated, aghast. “But, with the wedding…?”

“I don’t think Mr. Oakwater wants to separate from her,” said Thérèse sadly, shaking her head. “Lord knows how that will work out, after next month.”

Her head spinning, Adelle wondered if she would ever understand the strange world of Stockwood Manor.

**** **** ****


	2. The Oakwaters

Three weeks later, Woolsby called for an after-breakfast staff meeting. Every Stockwood servant crammed into the basement common room.

“So there is some news,” Woolsby announced, standing rigidly before the little group. The old butler looked stern. “Ms. Viebeck has telegrammed; she set sail for America last week, and will be here at the mansion in little more than three days.”

The servants murmured. By now, Adelle had learned: Ms. Wendy Viebeck, former opera star, was Mr. Oakwater Senior’s fiancée. Adelle still had yet to see a photograph of the woman.

“Does that mean the wedding plans will be moving forward, Mr. Woolsby?” fretted Mrs. Clatchet.

The butler nodded. “Most assuredly. In fact, Ms. Viebeck has forwarded a long list of instructions to that effect. Which is what I must discuss with you all.”

The common room was now silent as a tomb. All eyes were worried and riveted on Woolsby.

“The weekend of August 21st is to be **_extremely_** important,” the old man said gravely. “In the interest of coordinating all the wedding fittings, ceremonial arrangements, scheduling issues, and other matters, Ms. Viebeck wishes to invite all The Family to the manor. They will-“

All the servants except Adelle gasped in horror. “ ** _All_** of The Family?” cried Mrs. Clatchet.

Woolsby nodded, wearily closing his eyes.

Immediately, the maids and footmen began to mutter amongst themselves.

Adelle made some quick calculations. Thérèse had mentioned that Mr. Oakwater had three adult children. Charles Wilson Oakwater III had a wife and baby; that brought the total to five. Five guests! What was so challenging about that?

But the rest of the Stockwood staff looked as if they’d been told the manor house was about to be under siege by an army of trolls. Gerald the Footman, in particular, was shaking his head in anger.

“Come now!” Woolsby barked, his dark eyes flashing. “Are we or are we not the finest servants in New York? We can – and **_will_** – rise to this occasion.”

Asserting control, the butler began issuing orders. All the linens were to be pre-washed. Vivienne and Léonette, the other two maids, were to prepare all twenty-one guest bedrooms. “We don’t know which bedrooms the guests will want,” he explained. “It would be inhospitable if all preparations had not been made.

“Who gets the guest suite in the east wing?” asked Mrs. Clatchet warily. “You know how the Three Brothers fought over it last Christmas.”

Woolsby looked pained. “Whichever guest arrives first shall claim the suite,” he said simply. “Miss Adelle, you are responsible for that corner of the house.”

More assignments were made. “Miss Thérèse, you shall need to take over the management of serving all meals from the kitchen,” Woolsby instructed. “In fact-“

“Eh, pardon, _Monsieur_ Woolsby,” Thérèse piped up. “ _Monsieur_ Oakwater Senior has put me on duty for his suite.” She looked uncomfortable. “ _Madame_ Vesper is, ah, lodging there and had said she will remain there up until the wedding. I am to attend her and _Monsieur_ Oakwater Senior until the honeymoon.”

Adelle’s ears perked up. Thérèse was assigned to the Master Suite? She hadn’t heard that.

Woolsby’s face went ashen. “ ** _Ms. Vesper is staying with Mr. Oakwater?_** ” he asked, aghast. “But when Ms. Viebeck arrives… how will…?”

Thérèse winced. “I do not know, _Monsieur._ ”

The servants exchanged dark glances. From what Adelle could tell, poor Wendy Viebeck had no idea her future husband kept a mistress. Having said mistress living in the house when Ms. Viebeck arrived seemed like a volatile situation. Perhaps Eleanor Vesper was planning on slipping out the back door when Wendy Viebeck waltzed through the front?

Woolsby composed himself. “I will delicately bring up the matter with Mr. Oakwater Senior,” he said. He looked pained. “Although we might not behave in the manner that he does, it is not for us to judge him.”

“Perhaps Ms. Viebeck will stay in Albany until the wedding?” Mrs. Clatchet speculated.

“We will trust in Mr. Oakwater Senior to sort through these matters,” declared Woolsby. “Until then, I will manage the kitchens. Miss Thérèse will attend the Master Suite.”

**** **** ****

The servants mobilized. Adelle didn’t quite understand why her colleagues looked so stressed, and made a mental note to ask Thérèse when the two had a moment alone.

Unfortunately, Thérèse seemed to have been abducted into the Master Suite. The head maid simply disappeared for long portions of the day. When she did emerge, she was exhausted and in no mood for idle talk.

So Adelle decided to focus on her responsibilities. The guest suite had been closed for a few months, so it fell upon her to air it out, vacuum and dust it off, remove the plastic from the furniture, and then refresh all the sheets, towels, soaps, and essentials. There was a lot to do.

**** **** ****

Two days before the big weekend, the front door rang, and then Woolsby quickly summoned Adelle to the Great Hall. The young maid arrived, curious what was afoot.

A young man, perhaps in his late twenties stood by Woolsby in the foyer. He was tall and thin, with greasy black hair slicked back, a pencil moustache, and a wary smirk on his face. Even though he was indoors, a pair of black sunglasses rested over his eyes. The man wore a causal gray suit, except he’d opted for a black turtleneck rather than wear a white shirt and tie. He oozed impatience and disrespect. As he rolled his eyes about the house, he was smoking a black cigarette, which positively reeked of mint and pine. The man was carelessly ashing onto the foyer carpet. Adelle had never seen Woolsby look more outraged.

“Ah, Miss Adelle,” the red-faced butler said as the young maid approached. “This is Mr. Samuel Oakwater, second son to-“

“Well, well, well!” the man exclaimed. He stared at Adelle’s chest, lowering his sunglasses for a better view. “ ** _Who_** have we here, now, eh? Dig it! Papa brought on new French meat?”

Not knowing what to do, Adelle made a slight curtsey. “ _Monsieur_.”

“Ahem,” Woolsby grunted. A pained expression crossed his face. “Mr. Samuel is Mr. Oakwater Senior’s second oldest son,” he informed Adelle. “He is, obviously, the first to arrive for-”

“That means the guest suite’s all mine all mine all mine, right, Daddy-O?” Samuel asked darkly.

“Er, well…” The butler searched for diplomatic words. “Master Samuel, we were wondering, if perhaps, you might allow your brother Charles Junior to have the suite for this visit? After all, he will be traveling with his wife and baby-“

“Nuts to him,” Samuel snapped. “He ain’t here yet? Too bad. The suite’s mine.”

“Ah, yes, sir,” demurred Woolsby. “Miss Adelle is assigned to the suite for the duration of your stay. Although she will have additional duties-“

“Got it, got it,” Samuel said dismissively, already moving to take Adelle by the arm. “Woolsie, have my trunks brought up straight away, eh? I mean now. Then I’m gonna want Papa’s brandy out on the back veranda. Not the cheap stuff, you dig? Chop-chop!”

Adelle was practically seized by the younger Oakwater and propelled back into the house. When he walked, Samuel wobbled slightly on his feet.

“You ‘n me,” he leered to Adelle, “are gonna get to be **_best_** friends. Eh, doll?”

And he actually patted Adelle firmly on the bum.

**** **** ****

It was hard to say what about Samuel was the most grating. He seemed unable to control his mouth, which rambled on and on, usually complaining or cracking off-color jokes. He smoked nonstop, and always using that brand of black cigarette. Adelle had never seen this cigarette before, but the stench was really quite potent. He walked so close to Adelle, he tended to bump into her as they moved through the house. And finally, Samuel had no manners whatsoever. He prattled to Adelle, never once looking at her eyes. Only her breasts.

Unfortunately, the guest suite was only partially ready. Adelle had stripped the bed and aired out the closets, but most of the furniture was still under plastic. The vacuuming had yet to be done, either.

“Aw, lookit this dump!” Samuel groused when he entered. He took off his sunglasses, walked to the couch, then surveyed the entire suite. “Nowheresville!”

“I will have the suite ready for you by evening, _Monsieur,_ ” Adelle promised.

Samuel scratched his rear end, thinking. He didn’t look like he did the second activity often.

“Ah, zonk it,” he grumbled. “C’mere.”

Adelle hesitated.

“I **_said_** , c’mere, birdie,” cooed Samuel. “I ain’t gonna bite.”

Against her better judgement, the young maid approached. In a flash, Samuel flicked away his cigarette. He wrapped his arm about Adelle’s waist, pulling her to him. Once Adelle could not escape, the young man flopped backwards onto the couch, pulling Adelle down on top of him. He laughed gleefully, pawing her breasts with his other hand.

Other girls might be stunned into allowing this behavior. But not Adelle. She’d tangled with too many eager boys back home in Lalouvesc, her village. She had her pride.

“No, _Monsieur_!” she shouted, and wrenched herself out of Samuel’s grip.

But the younger Oakwater was still laughing. He grabbed Adelle’s wrist. “Aw, c’mon, chickie, I was just-“

Adelle slapped Samuel across the face, **_hard_**.

The black-haired man stared at the maid, dumbfounded. Adelle loomed over him.

“I said **_no!_** ” she said angrily, stabbing a finger at Samuel.

To Adelle’s surprise, Samuel fell back on the couch, laughing even harder. He fumbled in his suitcoat pocket for another cigarette.

Something clicked in place for Adelle. She’d seen this behavior before, in Paris, and then again in New York. Samuel was high. What he’d ingested, she couldn’t say, but the young man’s discoordination now betrayed him. He wasn’t right in the mind.

Disgusted, Adelle turned and extinguished the cigarette Samuel had tossed away. She hoped the young fool didn’t burn down the house.

**** **** ****

“You’re assigned to **_Samuel_** for the weekend?” Vivienne the maid said, wrinkling her nose. “Ugh. I’d rather shovel out the stables.”

It was the evening. The servants were packed into the common room for their dinner. Everyone was present, save Thérèse. The oil lamps flickered, a sure sign that they were nearly out of fuel.

“Mr. Samuel is a handful,” Adelle admitted, poking her soup. “But he’s really just a boy in a man’s body, I think. Never really grew up.”

“Shh, don’t use names!” Léonette warned. The three maids were conversing in French, but Woolsby was frowning at them from across the table. Gossip about The Family was strictly forbidden.

“It’s a shame, really,” commented Vivienne, reaching for the salt. “I overheard Mrs. Clatchet say that in his teen years, Mr. You-Know-Who was really quite intelligent. But he’s let his brain rot away on drugs.”

“Its why he’ll never run his father’s company,” Léonette said darkly.

“He wouldn’t stop trying to put his hands on me,” grumbled Adelle. “He’s got to be the worst of The Family, no?”

Vivienne and Léonette grimaced. “Just… wait until the other arrive,” Léonette advised. “Then ask that question again.”

**** **** ****

Later that Friday, the remainders of the Oakwater clan descended on Stockwood Manor. The first was William Oakwater, the eldest son of Charles Senior. Adelle and Léonette were moving floral vases in the Great Hall when he arrived.

“Is the guest suite ready for me?” the tall man demanded, removing his coat, but not bothering to look Woolsby in the eye.

“Ah, sir, about the suite,” the butler replied carefully. “I’m afraid your brother Samuel has already taken up residence there.”

“Sam? And you let the clod have it?” William practically snarled.

Adelle stole a glance at the eldest of Charles Senior’s children. Like Samuel, William was tall and thin, even taller by perhaps two inches. He was in his early thirties. His hair and moustache were light brown, trimmed by the most careful of professionals. Handsome yet arrogant, William surveyed Stockwood Manor as if he were a prince, a master of all he surveyed. He wore a crisp business suit, complete with a fresh rose in his lapel. His expensive shoes looked brand-new. Adelle noted that William spoke with a snooty air. She loathed him immediately.

A smaller man, perhaps Mexican, stood to William’s left. He, too, wore a suit, but also driver’s gloves and a silk scarf. Two of William’s suitcases were in his hands. A manservant.

“Well, then,” William rumbled. “Where am I to stay then, eh? You want to stick me in the toolshed behind the garage?”

“No, sir!” replied Woolsby, deeply offended. “Er, all the other guest bedrooms are available. If you would-“

“Fine,” snapped William. He shook his head. “I’ll somehow make due. I swear, the so-called ‘ _service_ ’ in this house degrades a little more every year.”

He snapped his fingers. “Come, José.”

William strode into the house, completely ignoring Adelle and Léonette. His servant scurried after him.

“Oh, and Woolsby?” William shouted as he ascended the Grand Staircase. “I’ll be taking three bedrooms, one for me, one for José, the middle one to be made into an office. Have the bed and furniture removed, will you? I’ll need a desk and table set up. Also, send up all the newspapers, some wash supplies, and food. **_Good_** food, mind you? You have fifteen minutes.”

And with that, William was gone. Woolsby was left at the base of the stairs, trembling in exasperation.

“Good God,” Adelle muttered to Léonette. “ ** _He_** certainly thinks much of himself, doesn’t he?”

“Of the three Elder Sons, he’s the only one to be successful at business,” Léonette breathed back. “In this family, that’s required for the father’s love.”

**** **** ****

An hour later, the third of the Oakwater sons arrived. Charles Wilson Oakwater III – derogatorily known as “Charlie Junior” to rest of The Family – was the only offspring of Charles Senior to have gotten married. Now, Charles III was tromping into the Grand Hall foyer, with his fat wife and Charles Wilson Oakwater IV in tow. Charles IV was a thirteen-month-old, red-faced baby, squirming about in his mother’s arms and screaming like a fire alarm.

Woolsby and Adelle were the only two servants available, as Léonette and the footmen were off rearranging the bedrooms to William’s satisfaction.

“Hello there, Woolbie my good man,” Charlie Junior said, already thrusting his coat and hat at the butler. The young man’s eye fell onto Adelle. “Gee whiz, what have we here? Hello, hello, hello! Papa has a new girl, eh?”

The youngest Oakwater son was perhaps twenty-five, also tall and thin like his brothers. And while William and Samuel had some fashion sense, Charlie Junior wore an ill-fitting, wide lapeled suit that was all wrong for his lanky frame. His haircut was also not quite right, far too bushy and flapping as he moved. Thankfully, he had chosen not to grow a moustache.

Indifferent to the glare of his wife, Charlie strutted right up to Adelle, his eyes locked on her chest. “You’re a pretty one, yeah,” he declared. In a lower voice, he asked, “You give massages? Noémie the maid used to give me massages, but she doesn’t work here anymore. In fact-“

“Charles!” the wife exploded.

Adelle remembered: Charlie Junior’s wife was named Hilda. The woman was short and quite overweight, with bulges of fat in her neck, waist, and arms. What she lacked in physique, she made up in the quality of her hairdo, makeup, and clothes; her coat, dress, and shoes, in particular were top-rate. She was a woman who took poor care of her body, but spent lavishly on its wrappings.

Charlie Junior made a show of rolling his eyes, then turned back to Woolsby. “Okay, okay, then,” he grunted. “Woolbie, the family and I will be taking the guest suite, and no excuses this time, get me? Have our luggage sent up there. Then, I’ll need… What?”

Woolsby was fidgeting. “Ah, I beg your pardon, Master Charles,” he mumbled, “but I am afraid that your brother Samuel has already, ah, occupied the guest suite. But perhaps-“

“ ** _What?_** ” Charlie Junior and Hilda bellowed in unison.

“But perhaps the staff and I might make you comfortable in any of the third floor guestrooms?” Woolsby soldiered on. “Or in the cottage?”

“Now you see here,” huffed Charlie Junior, actually poking Woolsby in the chest. “You tell my worthless, idiot pothead brother that the guest suite goes to me, see? I mean… we’ve got Baby Chuckie!”

As if to back up his father, Charles IV screamed, “ ** _WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!_** ”

Inside, Adelle flinched. Woolsby couldn’t **_ever_** confront Samuel, even if the middle Oakwater son was willingly setting the house on fire. Charlie Junior was putting the poor butler in an impossible position. Even now, Woolsby was staring at the youngest Oakwater with a helpless look in his eye.

“Ah, _Monsieur_ Woolsby?” she said tenderly. “Perhaps we could place Master and Mrs. Charles in the Stratford bedroom? The Winchester bedroom is next door, and could be converted into a nursery.”

The Charlie Junior family stared at her. “But…” Hilda protested, but couldn’t think of anything to say.

“The Stratford room is just off the elevator lift,” Adelle pointed out.

“Yeah…” Charlie Junior considered. “Yeah! Yeah, so it is.” His eyes swiveled down Adelle’s body one more. “And if we need anything, we can summon **_you_** in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, eh?” he asked the young maid. “Okay, Woolbie, the Stratford and Winchester will do.”

Looking suspicious, Hilda shot an acidic glare at Adelle.

**** **** ****

It was fortunate that the new guests were situated far apart within the great house. William, Samuel, Charlie Junior, and Hilda thought nothing of screaming at the servant staff for anything, any whim at all. Their demands were usually extravagant, made with little thought, and the expectation that their wishes could be fulfilled almost instantly. Not once did any of these orders come with a “thank you” or even an acknowledgement of labor.

As the sun was setting, Adelle found herself traipsing back through the Grand Hall, on yet another errand for Samuel. The young maid was developing a headache, and her feet ached.

To her consternation, there was an older, slender woman standing in the foyer, slipping out of a long, white coat. A servant in a chauffer’s uniform was setting down two large suitcases next to her.

 _Another Oakwater guest?_ Adelle thought in annoyance. _And she didn’t even ring the doorbell?_

Poor Woolsby was under William’s orders at the moment, and couldn’t possibly receive the new arrival. Adelle forced a welcoming smile onto her face, then approached the woman.

The lady was in her late forties, elegant and quite beautiful. Her hazel eyes sparkled, and her straight brown hair flowed down her neck in a graceful river. The woman wore a city dress with matching heels and a sparkling (but tasteful) diamond necklace. From her posture and movement, Adelle could tell that the woman had spent many years in refining school when she was a girl.

On her own, the woman opened the foyer closet and hung her own coat. She jumped a little when she spotted Adelle.

“Oh!” the woman gasped. “You scared me.”

“ _Madame_ ,” said Adelle, still suspicious. “Might I help you?”

“You’re new,” the woman replied, studying Adelle with a gentle smile. “I knew they wanted to bring in a new maid, but I didn’t know how soon.”

“ _Oui_ ,” Adelle merely said, wondering how to handle this situation.

The woman suddenly laughed. “Oh goodness me,” she gushed. “I haven’t introduced myself, have I?” She swept forward, warmly taking both of Adelle’s hands. “I’m Wendy, Wendy Viebeck. I’m Charles Senior’s fiancée.”

“Oh,” said Adelle. “Oh! Oh, _Madame!_ ” She blushed. “Please to forgive, _Madame_ , I thought-“

“Goodness knows what you thought,” chuckled Wendy, a twinkle in her eye. “The fault is mine, I really should have introduced myself straightaway.”

The older woman sighed happily, looking about the Great Hall. “Ah, its good to be home.” She smiled at Adelle once more. “And nice to see a new face to greet me. Tell me, child, what is your name?”

“Adelle, _Madame_.”

“Well, Adelle, welcome to Stockwood Manor. I hope Woolsby and Thérèse have been helping you feel at home?”

The young maid blushed again. “ _Oui_ , quite, _Madame_.” She moved toward the suitcases. “May I help you these…?”

“Oh, leave those, leave those,” Wendy implored. “My dear, each weigh fifty pounds! Let Woolsby arrange for the footmen to bring them up with a trolley, when he has the time.”

Relieved, Adelle merely nodded.

“I suppose Charles is in his suite?” Wendy asked, checking her watch.

Now Adelle tensed. Was… the mistress, Eleanor Vesper, upstairs with Charles Senior? She didn’t know.

“I think I’ll pop up and surprise him,” Wendy said to no-one in particular. She beamed again at the young maid. “So lovely to meet you, Adelle. I hope you’ll be happy here.”

And without another word, she walked briskly to the Grand Staircase.

**** **** ****

Adelle spent the next few hours bracing for… well, she didn’t know what. In her imagination, she could see Wendy flinging open the doors of Charles Senior’s suite, only to discover her beloved and Eleanor Vesper in a state of… well… The scenarios didn’t look good.

But aside from the Oakwater children bellowing at the servant staff, there was no eruption from the master suite. Wendy went upstairs to see Charles Senior, and then… all was quiet.

**** **** ****

Still outraged over who possessed the coveted guest suite, the Oakwater children refused to dine with one another. They stubbornly remained in their bedrooms. The staff was forced to hand-deliver individual meals up from the kitchen, which was a logistical nightmare. How do you keep the soup hot and the wine chilled and the h’orderves crisp and the roast beef juices from running into the mashed potatoes when all of these things must be carried all across the house? The Oakwaters noticed every imperfection in the meal, and berated the servants without hesitation.

For her part, Adelle served the dinner to Samuel, still holed up in the guest suite. He ate in the little dining room, making crude jokes about Adelle’s figure the entire time. The middle Oakwater son was not terribly lucid; Adelle was certain that he had once again sampled his favorite narcotic. He also smoked his favorite stinky cigarettes throughout the entire meal.

“Eh, that’s enough,” Samuel slurred, pushing away his plate. “Take it all away.”

The young maid gathered up the dishes, set them on the trolley, then whisked everything away. The more time she spent with Samuel, the more he disgusted her.

**** **** ****

Down in the kitchens, Adelle bumped into Thérèse. The head maid was also returning a trolley of dirty dishes. She looked dazed and tired.

“Thérèse!” Adelle said in French, pleased to see her friend. “Girl, you look beat.”

Managing a limp smile, Thérèse replied, “Yeah…” She blinked. “You are assigned to Mr. Samuel…?”

“I am,” snorted Adelle, setting her dishes into the soapy sink. “He’s a real charmer, let me tell you. So have you been attending Charles Senior this whole time-”

“That reminds me,” Thérèse said wearily. “When you’re done here, head up to the Winchester bedroom? Baby Chuckie needs a diaper change. And someone needs to feed him his evening mush.”

Adelle’s grim smile dropped from her face. “Me?”

“I can’t spare anyone else,” insisted Thérèse. “I’m sorry, it has to be done.”

“Sure,” Adelle allowed. But she was fuming on the inside. What did she know about babies? Nothing!

**** **** ****

Baby Chuckie put up a great fight, screaming and flinging his dinner in all directions. Adelle spent more time wiping up his messes than she did actually getting food inside the little brat. The kid was young, but he definitely understood that he was an Oakwater: rotten, spoiled, ungrateful, and only happy when he could see everyone else was miserable.

After three hours, however, the little tyke lost steam. He yawned like a grizzly and without warning, dropped into a deep sleep, right there in his highchair. Adelle carefully wiped him down, transferred him into a swaddle, and then lay him in his crib. Then she dimmed the lights and slipped into the corridor.

As she staggered back to the Grand Staircase, the young maid realized how tired she was. All day long, she’d sprinted and slaved for the Oakwaters. And the day wasn’t over yet. And the weekend was only beginning!

**** **** ****

It was a good twenty minute walk from the west to east wings, and then up to the guest suite. Adelle still had to turn in the bed and draw the evening bath for Samuel. Then, barring some calamity, she was off-duty.

The guest suite was quiet, even though all the lights were on. But Samuel was no-where to be seen. The ashtray was overflowing with the butts of his black cigarettes… but none had been recently lit. The middle Oakwater child was out.

 _Just as well_ , Adelle thought wearily.

She snapped off every light but the bedside reading lamp. Then, she moved to the master bedroom, drawing the heavy curtains over the French windows. Next, she pulled the oversized comforter off the four-poster master bed.

Adelle was about to open up the sheets when the suite’s double doors banged open. Two people, groping and kissing wildly, were staggering inside, a man and a woman. Obscured by the darkness, they fumbled about as they entered.

“Wait, wait, wait,” the man laughed. Samuel.

He twisted about, slamming the doors to the corridor shut. “C’mere, baby,” he demanded, and then the wild kissing resumed.

Adelle stood, frozen in horror. As the couple made their way towards the bed, she could see who the woman was…

Eleanor Vesper. Charles Senior’s mistress.

 _Quick, behind the curtains!_ the young maid thought. She was about to move when Eleanor looked over, and the two women’s eyes locked.

“Shit!” Eleanor yelled. “You!” Her eyes bulged.

Inside, Adelle wanted to scream in frustration.

**** **** ****


	3. So in Love, Yet Not

Adelle stared at Samuel and Eleanor, rooted on the spot. Mortified, she had no idea what to do.

“You!” snarled Eleanor, clawing her way out of Samuel’s arms. “What’re **_you_** doing here?”

Turning bright red, Adelle found herself staring at the carpet. “I should go,” she said rapidly. She was so flustered, her English almost failed her. “I didn’t see anything, _Madame_ , I should go…!”

And with that, Adelle hurried toward the suite’s exit.

“Hey, hey, wait!” demanded Samuel, snatching Adelle by both arms.

“Let me go, _Monsieur!_ ” Adelle cried, pulling back.

While Samuel and Adelle were tussling, Eleanor rushed to the double doors. She stood before them now, guarding them with a wild look in her eyes.

“ ** _Let me go!_** ” shouted Adelle at the top of her lungs. “ ** _Help, help!_** ”

“Release her, Sam!” Eleanor shouted at the same time.

Samuel grimaced. “Jesus Christ!” He withdrew his hands, and immediately Adelle shoved him backwards.

“You let me out,” demanded Adelle, jabbing an angry finger at Eleanor.

The older, black-haired woman let out a shaky exhale. “Let’s all calm down?” she suggested. “Look, we’ve all had a nasty fright, we all reacted badly.” She glared at Samuel. “ ** _Right?_** ”

Samuel wanted to blame Adelle. “Yeah, but she-“

“ ** _Sam_** ,” Eleanor said, an edge in her voice.

The middle Oakwater boy made a face. His pencil moustache seemed to quiver. “Yeah,” he agreed reluctantly. “Yeah, what Eleanor said.”

“ _Bien_ ,” snapped Adelle. “Now let me go, _s'il vous plaît._ ”

Eleanor straightened, no longer standing guard at the door. “Adelle, isn’t it?” she asked gently. “Listen, Adelle, could we talk a little first? I’m concerned that… you didn’t understand what you witnessed. Or what you thought you witnessed.”

 _I saw you about to go to bed with your boyfriend’s son,_ Adelle thought tartly. _No trouble recognizing that._

“Look, can I talk to you, woman-to-woman?” Eleanor implored Adelle. For once, the mistress was soothing and polite. Adelle was deeply suspicious. “Just give me five minutes, please.”

“ _Madame_ , I am a professional,” Adelle said stiffly. “I do not, ah, repeat anything that I saw in confidence. That is the servant’s way.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Eleanor said, but her face was still worried. “And I’m so sorry about how we – Sam and I – treated you. We were startled, and reacted very, **_very_** badly.”

Adelle pursed her lips. Eleanor’s face and voice were sincere.

“Look, can I, er, explain the situation to you?” the older woman implored. She gestured to the suite’s sitting area, and to one of the overstuffed easy chairs in particular. “Please.”

Before Adelle could object, Eleanor turned to Samuel. “Sam, get the champagne, will you? Three flutes.”

“What? Me?” Samuel balked.

“ ** _Do_** it,” Eleanor insisted. The Oakwater son looked as if he wanted to argue… but he withdrew into the kitchenette.

Adelle had to admit it; it was fun seeing Samuel take the orders.

“Please do come in,” Eleanor murmured. “Only five minutes, I promise. And perhaps we’ll learn from you.”

The sound of a cork popping came from the kitchenette. Adelle felt herself waver. She’d always wondered what the Oakwaters’ champagne tasted like.

This invitation instinctively felt like a trick of some kind. Yet the young maid simply couldn’t see a trap. And Eleanor, now that she had calmed down, did seem concerned for Adelle’s approval.

“Alright, _tr_ _ès bien_ …” the beautiful young Frenchwoman allowed. “Five minutes, no more. Then I must go downstairs for my dinner.”

“Fair enough,” allowed Eleanor. She gestured to the chair once more.

Moving gingerly, Adelle stepped back into the suite’s sitting area. The chair was extremely comfortable, just as she’d always suspected.

Eleanor took two of the champagne flutes from Samuel. “Here,” she coaxed, holding one of them out to Adelle, “drink this. It’ll help us all feel more relaxed.”

The young maid took the glass, but did not drink.

“Oh, come now,” Eleanor smiled. “For goodness’ sake, girl, its not poisoned.” She took a deep swig from her own flute. “See? Delicious!” She cocked her head at Adelle. “Now that we’ve opened the bottle, we either drink it, or it goes to waste. Shall it all be for me?”

Adelle allowed herself the tiniest sip. The golden bubbly was fizzy, sweet… and absolutely delicious. Adelle wondered if Thérèse had ever sampled some.

“Good,” Eleanor said, pleased. She drank again herself, then indicated that Samuel should return to the kitchen for more.

Adelle stole another sip.

“Poor Adelle,” the older woman said, moving to stand before the maid’s chair. “I can’t imagine what you must be thinking. If I were in your shoes, I’m certain I’d have all kinds of crazy thoughts.”

“Oh no, _Madame_ ,” Adelle said quickly.

Eleanor smiled. “You are polite, and discreet, and that’s to your credit. Sam?” She held out her empty champagne flute. She wanted more.

“Aw, man,” Samuel stalled, “I left the bottle in the kitchen.”

“So go and **_get it_** , Sammy Boy,” said Eleanor with exasperation. “I’ll have another. So will Adelle, won’t you, my dear?”

Samuel looked as if he’d swallowed a lemon. But he obediently retreated to the kitchen.

Eleanor winked at Adelle. “I think this is good for him,” she confessed in a whisper. “Drink up, so he has to serve you again.”

Adelle, tickled by this idea, couldn’t resist. She gulped down her champagne, delighted at how it felt bubbling its way down her throat.

The maid paused, reconsidering the black-haired woman standing before her. When they’d first met, Eleanor had seemed… well, cold. Heartless. But perhaps Adelle had met her under poor circumstances? Eleanor was, after all, about to be displaced by Wendy Viebeck. Maybe Eleanor had taken that situation poorly?

Whatever the case, Eleanor now seemed genuinely concerned that Adelle liked her. She smiled constantly, chatting up a storm, and made a show of forcing Samuel to be her waiter.

“Do you know about the invention of champagne, my dear?” Eleanor asked, polishing off her second glass. “Many people think that Dom Pérignon invented it. But not true! Pérignon was one of the first to make bubbly wines, and God bless him for it. But the drink became popular because when people drank it, they felt happy and relaxed. Happy and relaxed! What a wonderful thing to put in a bottle!”

“I always advise people to have one glass of champagne before a job interview,” Eleanor went on. “Not any more than that, of course, but just a small glass will cause one to relax, to release the stress, to feel better about one’s self. We could all use more of that.”

“Yes, _Madame_ ,” Adelle agreed, enjoying the brooding look on Samuel’s face as he refilled her flute.

“What I’ve always wondered,” said Eleanor, “is how do they make it so sweet? And bubbly? Its like, once you sample a little, you’re so aware of your insides. The champagne soothes you, makes you forget your troubles, just a little.”

Adelle was about to make a comment, when her talkative hostess shifted topics.

“Anyway, I think about what you just went through, and I just feel **_awful_** ,” Eleanor related. “Just awful. You reacted entirely properly, of course. Your nerves! They must have been stretched taut!” She sighed. “I’m a woman, with hopes and desires, just like you. Its so rare I can relax to find a little tranquility, you know? So rare. But you know what I tell my patients? Just breathe, relaxation will come, relaxation will come.”

Eleanor prattled on and on. It was as if the alcohol had loosened the floodgates and now she couldn’t stop the words from gushing from her mouth. Adelle listened politely, sipping her champagne.

“And my dear…” Eleanor confided, slipping a glance at Samuel, who had returned to the kitchen, “I’ll admit, my choice in men has not always been level. I’m quite impulsive, actually. If only I could relax, breathe, think inwardly. Just like I tell my patients: Relax… breathe… Think inwardly… Then peace will come. Peace will come.”

Was Eleanor even paying attention to Adelle? The maid wasn’t sure. The older woman spoke in a continuous flow, hardly pausing to breathe or give Adelle an opportunity to make a comment. But on the other hand, Eleanor was maintaining a near-continuous eye contact with her one-woman audience. Adelle listened patiently, transfixed. She was enjoying the soothing feeling of champagne in her belly.

Eleanor smiled. “Oh, if its one thing I hear over and over again, its that patients don’t relax enough! Astounding, don’t you think? That is literally the only skill we are born with as infants, yet the hardest to master when we are grown up. I tell my patients all the time: Relax… Breathe… Think inwardly… **_Relax_** …! **_Breathe_** …! Think **_inwardly_** …! All the time!”

Time stretched on. Adelle was starting to feel tranquilized. She wasn’t aware of it, but four words kept popping up in Eleanor’s monologue with regular frequency: **_Relax… Breathe… Think inwardly…_** It was almost like those words echoed in the young maid’s thoughts. Every time Eleanor pronounced them, they hovered in the air. The champagne was making Adelle’s head feel light.

“You understand what I’m talking about, don’t you, dear?” Eleanor exclaimed. Her voice was almost catlike now. “Yes, I can tell. You’re a smart girl. You handle tremendous stress, yet you know deep down inside how to **_relax_** … How to **_breathe_** … How to **_think inwardly_** … Yes, even now, I can see you are doing so! Oh, how I envy you, Adelle. Soon you will be asleep, **_relaxing_** , **_breathing_** , **_thinking inwardly_**. Yes, how sweet and wonderful it will be. **_Relax_** , Adelle. **_Breathe_** , Adelle. **_Think inwardly_** , Adelle, yes…”

How much time had passed? A minute? Five minutes? Longer? The young maid had no idea. She found her body felt heavy, almost immobilized. As Eleanor gazed at her intently, Adelle quietly stared back, imaging that those two green pupils were getting larger and larger. And as Eleanor’s words rolled on, Adelle realized… she was **_relaxing_**. She was **_breathing_** deeper and more regularly. And she was…

Well, her thoughts were becoming sluggish. Was that thinking inwardly? Adelle wished she could ask. Her lips and jaw did not want to move. Her hand, loosely holding the empty champagne flute, lowered to her chair’s armrest.

“So wonderful to **_relax_** deeper, **_breathe_** deeper, **_think inwardly_** , and allow yourself to drift off to sleep, Adelle,” Eleanor’s green eyes said warmly. “Soon, you will be asleep, without a care in the world. Every time you blink your eyes, you **_relax_** deeper, **_breathe_** deeper, **_think inwardly_** … You only want to sleep, Adelle, sleeeeeep…”

To her surprise, the young maid found it was a struggle to keep her eyes open. Was she actually falling asleep? Wasn’t that rude?

“No, let go, my darling,” coaxed the green eyes. “ ** _Relax_** deeper, **_breathe_** deeper, **_think inwardly_** … Soon you will not have a care in the world because you will be deep, deep asleep. Won’t that be wonderful? In fact, right now, when I snap my fingers, you realize you are in your bed right now, about to tumble into a wonderful, deep, deep sleep, where you will have the most pleasant dreams and submit to my suggestions with your whole body and mind. You will sleeeeep…”

 _I am in bed right now?_ thought Adelle, confused. _That makes no sense._ Her body did feel asleep. And she did have the strongest desire to close her eyes and obey.

“ ** _Relax_** , Adelle… **_Breathe_** , Adelle… **_Think inwardly_** , Adelle…” the wonderful voice urged her.

The young woman was completely unaware as her empty flute dropped from her limp fingers and onto the thick carpet. It landed without a noise.

“And now,” the lovely voice inside Adelle’s mind purred, “I will snap my fingers, and you will drop into a deep, thoughtless sleep, where you will feel absolutely wonderful and want to follow and obey my every desire. You cannot resist. Sleep… **_now!_** ”

Two fingers and a thumb appeared before Adelle’s hazy vision. They clicked, and instantly…

…Adelle’s eyes closed. Her facial muscles went slack, and she dropped into a powerful, wonderful slumber.

**** **** ****

The beautiful young maid was aware of Eleanor’s voice pouring more instructions into her mind. Fascinated, she listened, fully understanding that she was being placed under the control of her wonderful new mistress… and yet, not caring about this in the slightest. The surrender of her thoughts felt so delightful. Adelle was at peace, simply floating along, happy to have no will of her own.

Finally, after many more commands, Eleanor’s voice was saying, “…and now, my darling Adelle, you will sleep even **_deeper_**. All of my suggestions will borrow deep, deep into your mind, where they will become irresistible. Later, when you are awake and aware, you will carry them out, fully believing that you are acting on your own compulsions. Sleep, now, **_sleeeeeep_** …”

There was a pause.

“There,” Eleanor said, her voice now weary. “She’s under.”

A man spoke now. Samuel. “She’s hypnotized?”

“Deeply,” Eleanor affirmed. “Jesus Christ, I thought the little minx would never go down. Give me one of your cigarettes?”

There was the sound of paper rustling, then a match being lit. The pungent smell of mint and pine filled Adelle’s nostrils.

“Ack!” Eleanor coughed. “What goes into these? Sludge?”

“Hey hey, birdie, those figs are expensive,” protested Samuel. “Don’t waste one.”

“Here,” Eleanor said, “you take it, then.” She exhaled slowly. “We were incredibly lucky, Sam. **_Incredibly_** lucky. The hypnotism almost didn’t work on Snow White, here.”

There was the soft clink of glass upon glass, and then the sound of liquid flowing. Eleanor was pouring herself some more champagne. Adelle heard the female doctor move across the carpet, then sink onto the nearest couch.

Samuel didn’t sound impressed. “Eh, so what? You still got her.” He took a long drag. “You’re pretty good at that.” He laughed nervously. “You’d never put the whammy on little ol’ me, wouldja?”

“You would see what I was doing long before my techniques had any affect, love,” replied the black-haired woman. “But this little one… she’s a country bumpkin, from a tiny nowhere village in France. She’s probably never even **_heard_** of hypnotism. Of course she never realized what was happened to her. Ha!”

Adelle, floating in her perfect, relaxed bliss, absently wondered about whom Eleanor was talking. But wondering required energy, and the beautiful young maid discovered she just didn’t care. She sighed to herself, relaxing even deeper. The world felt like a sweet dream.

“But…” Samuel said, confused, “all you did was **_talk_** to her. How-“

“No, Sammy Boy, that’s not all I did,” replied Eleanor, and now there was a hint of pride in her voice. “You’ve just witnessed my technique. Subliminal Vocabulary. My technique.” She snorted with derision. “They laughed at me in the universities when I first proposed it. Drummed me out of the profession, the sexist pigs. Said a mere woman couldn’t invent a new form of hypnosis. But I was right! I was right…”

“Huh,” commented Samuel. He sounded bored.

Eleanor took a long swig of champagne. The alcohol was loosening her tongue. “God bless your father, that’s all I have to say. Somehow he found out about my work. I’ll have to ask him how one of these days. Anyway, he agreed to fund me, if he could direct the experiments.”

“That doesn’t sound like Papa.”

“No?” Eleanor laughed quietly. “My whole theory is that you can deeply hypnotize a person without them realizing it… on the strict condition that they have no idea what hypnosis is. And your dad knew exactly where we could find suitable test subjects for my experiments. Innocent farm girls from war-torn France! Why do you think he spent the last year hiring incredibly young French women as his maids?” She chuckled again.

“Ah,” said Samuel, putting it together. “So you’re going to hypnotize all the maids at Stockwood Manor?”

Eleanor poured another fluteful of champagne, then set down the bottle. “Let’s just say… your father has a vision. Someday, this house will have a large serving staff comprised of only nubile young women, all under the influence of certain keywords. They will serve him, and then **_serve_** him.” Eleanor’s voice became smug. “At the same time, my theories will be vindicated. I’ll perfect my techniques by experimenting on Stockwood maids… and then, when I demonstrate my skills at an international symposium, the universities will have no choice but to embrace my brilliance.”

“Blow me down,” Samuel exclaimed, impressed. “Papa has more imagination than I thought. All this time, I thought you were just going to bed with him because he was rich.”

“Your father and I have a very unique understanding,” the female doctor said loftily. “I’ll thank you not to pry.”

There was a pause.

“Actually, Sam,” Eleanor murmured, “you and I have to be careful. Very careful. I don’t think your father suspects the two of us… but I’m not certain.”

“ _Pfft_ ,” scoffed Samuel. “The Old Man’s always kept mistresses, you know. You know, he actually likes to keep some of their undergarments in a bedside drawer, like trophies or something?” The young man chortled. “You add anything to his collection?”

“That’s my business,” Eleanor said tartly.

“Well, once Papa’s bored with you, he’ll find a new bird. Always does. Don’t ask me how he finds ‘em, when he’s always locked up in his pleasure suite…” Samuel laughed, this time cruelly. “But Papa’s not gonna care if you ‘n me are-“

Eleanor cut him off, and now there was alarm in her voice. “That’s just it, Sam. He **_would_** care. Deep down, he’s a very petty and vindictive man. I’ve seen it.” Her tone became dark. “He may already suspect. I thought I was followed in my car the other day.”

“Come off it!” Samuel chided. “I thought I was supposed to be the paranoid one.”

Eleanor didn’t respond.

The young Oakwater changed the subject. “So, what do we do with Adel-“

“Shh!” hissed Eleanor. “Don’t use her name! She can’t realize what’s happened to her!”

Still adrift within her own mind, Adelle, once again, wondered about whom Eleanor was talking.

“Oh, right, right,” Samuel said, but he didn’t sound like he was taking Eleanor’s warning very seriously. “So what do we do with her?”

“Erase her memory,” the doctor replied dryly. “When I’m done with her, she’ll recall none of this. She’ll be convinced that all she did was turn down the bed and draw your bath.”

“What? Oh, no, no,” exclaimed Samuel. “No, you’re in control of her mind! We gotta seize the moment, man!”

“What do you mean?” Eleanor asked warily.

“I gotta see her naked,” declared Samuel. “I just gotta. I mean… just **_look_** at those tits!”

“Samuel,” said Eleanor with strained patience, “did you not hear what I just said? We were lucky to mesmerize her as it is. But I haven’t perfected my techniques, nor have I studied this girl’s psychological profile… there’s a lot that could go wrong.”

Adelle heard Samuel rise up, then slide on the couch next to Eleanor. It sounded like he was wrapping his arms about her. “Baby…” he coaxed, his voice soft.

“No, Sam.”

“So you wipe her memory now. Just promise me you’ll rehypnotize her after you do all your egghead analysis, and **_then_** we can hump her rotten.”

“My dear boy,” Eleanor said, sounding both charmed and frustrated, “if I rehypnotize her without careful study, it will almost certainly backfire. Her mind will rebel. I’ll lose any control over her that I have now.”

“Baaaaaaby,” Samuel purred, “ ** _look_** at her. Look at them red, soft lips. Can’t you imagine how wonderful it would feel, to have those lips at your pussy? To have that tongue licking the inside of you?”

The young man was pouring on the charm. Adelle could hear him planting soft kisses on Eleanor’s neck and cheek.

“Samuel Oakwater…!” the hypnotist said sternly.

“Com’on, sweetie,” the young man cooed. He switched to a disgusting baby voice. “ _Eleanorums wants to make her Sammy-Whammy happy, yeeeeeeah?_ ”

Eleanor exhaled, her resolve weakening. “Sam, I can’t guarantee that I could maintain control over her,” she half-pleaded. “Couldn’t we just…”

The sound of Samuel’s kisses floated in the air. Adelle heard the rustling of clothing.

“Ohhh…” Eleanor moaned quietly.

“Come _> kiss<_ on,” whispered Samuel. “You’re brilliant. _> kiss<_ She’s a _> kiss< _dumb rube. _> kiss< _You can _> kiss, kiss, kiss< _control her thoughts. _> kiss< _Make her want us. Make her _> kiss< _want us both…”

“Oh, Sam…”

“Com’on…”

There was more kissing, more shifting about on the couch. Adelle heard Eleanor whimper, just a little.

“Okay,” the female doctor allowed. “Okay, okay… I know what to do.”

“Yeeeeeah,” said Samuel.

The bodies on the couch shifted once again, and then Eleanor rose to stand before Adelle. The young maid felt the other woman’s hand come to rest on her own shoulder.

“Hello, Adelle,” Eleanor murmured, and now her voice filled the Frenchwoman’s mind. “Listen very, very carefully. In a moment, I will snap my fingers, and you will awaken. And when you do…”

**** **** ****

**_Snap!_ **

Adelle’s eyes flew open. For an instant, her thoughts were blank. Where was she?

The maid paused, glancing about. She was sitting in an easy chair, feeling incredibly relaxed. And she was in… what was this room? She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t remember how she got here, nor what this place was. She saw more chairs and couches, and then in the next room, a large bed.

Standing before Adelle were two people, a man and a woman. The man’s name was… Samuel. Yes, she was sure of that. And the woman? Eleanor. Both looked down at her in quiet anticipation.

“How do you feel, dear?” Eleanor asked plainly.

Adelle sat up, considering the question. “Wonderful,” she smiled. “I feel… wonderful! _Waouh!_ So good! So-“

The young woman glanced at Samuel, and her heart skipped a beat.

“Oh…” she said, rising. “Oh, you are…”

Adelle was helpless, lost for words. She **_loved_** Samuel. Oh, she was **_so in love_** with him! Even as the young Frenchwoman gazed at Samuel, she felt her heart beat faster. A desperate longing to hold him, to kiss him, to whisper her devotion to him, seized her. She had never been so struck by these feeling before.

“Oh, _mon amour_ ,” Adelle murmured, stepping close to Samuel. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his beautiful face. And before she could stop herself, both of her small hands were floating up to rest on his cheeks.

The object of her passion laughed in delight. “It worked!” Samuel exclaimed to Eleanor.

“Yes,” agreed Eleanor. “She’s absolutely convinced that you are her one true love. Impressive.”

Adelle ignored this snippet of conversation. What did it matter? All she hoped for was a kind word from darling Samuel.

“My love,” she whispered, stepping even closer to her dream man. “Please, may I kiss you?”

“Sure,” mugged Samuel.

Adelle’s heart flooded with joy. Smiling brightly, she pulled Samuel’s lips to her own, and then…

Oh, the kiss was divine! Samuel’s mouth was small, and his moustache bristles scraped against Adelle’s skin. She didn’t care. All that mattered was that she was connecting with this wonderful, wonderful man who had captured her heart. Perhaps he loved her too?

Adelle kissed Samuel for a full minute, her happiness soaring. Why, this was wonderful! She’d never been so head-over-heels before!

Eventually, the kiss faded. Adelle and Samuel separated their lips; there was a big, dopey grin on the young man’s face. “Oh wow, man…” he muttered.

“Adelle?” Eleanor asked, stepping closer and placing a hand on the French maid’s bare shoulder.

Before Adelle could react, the female doctor was snapping her fingers before Adelle’s face, twice.

Something happened within Adelle’s mind. Suddenly, it was as if the world was born anew. Eleanor looked so intensely beautiful. Adelle almost swooned as she felt herself fall in love with the older woman.

“ _Ma ch_ _érie…!_ ” the maid exclaimed, then pressed her body against Eleanor’s. She kissed, full lips, full tongue. The kiss was even deeper and longer than her kiss with Samuel.

Time seemed to slow, then stop. Adelle couldn’t remember ever being so happy. Here she was, in this place, with the two people she loved more than life itself.

The young maid broke the kiss, then seized both Samuel and Eleanor by a hand. “Come, _mes chéris_ ,” she murmured with a smile. “Let me make love to you both? I want to show you the passion you inspire in me.”

Samuel and Eleanor gaped at her, stunned by how alive and assertive Adelle was. Without protest, they were drawn into the bedroom.

Losing no time, Adelle unbuckled her shoes, then kicked them off. “Undress me, my darlings?” she purred. “I want to show you **_everything_**.”

Of course, Samuel got right to work. He knelt before Adelle, sliding his hands up her legs, over her buttocks, and then up under the mass of her petticoats. His fingers were seeking the top of her black pantyhose.

“Ah,” Adelle beamed, delighted at how erotic this all was. “Eleanor, my love, unbutton me?”

The older woman circled behind the maid, then went to work on the dress’s tight corset. The buttons were released, and suddenly Adelle felt the black cloth relax and fall away. Her tiny skirt and petticoats separated and tumbled to the floor.

“Ahh…!” she sighed in contentment.

Now that the upper wrappings were loose, Samuel could easily hook his fingers under Adelle’s stockings and panties. He drew them down, down, down, all the while loving the slow reveal of Adelle’s bare legs.

And then the young Frenchwoman was nude, fully nude, save for her black choker. She carefully stepped out of the pile of stockings, briefly parading about so that her lovers could admire her soft and supple body. The cool air of the room bathed her skin.

With catlike steps, Adelle came to stand directly before Eleanor. To Samuel, she purred, “Strip naked for me, my love? Show me your cock?”

The young Oakwater reached for her.

“Oh, no no, _vilain garçon_ ,” teased the naked Adelle. “I am bare for you. You must become the same for me, _non?_ ” Her voice both teased and seduced.

“Yeah,” agreed Samuel, half-smiling, half-gawking. “Yeah, sure.” He undid his belt.

Satisfied, Adelle leaned forward, once again kissing Eleanor. The maid’s slim fingers touched Eleanor’s blouse. Within a heartbeat, she’d located the top button, and began opening the garment.

“…wait…” Eleanor sighed, mid-kiss.

Adelle ignored her. She was so in love, so devoted to these two wonderful people who… who… well, who must have done **_something_** to win her heart. Strange that Adelle couldn’t remember what. The entranced maid kept kissing, growing wet as she worked her way down Eleanor’s blouse buttons.

Soon Adelle had stripped the female doctor down to her brassiere and panties. Eleanor, for her part, tried to resist the young woman, but Adelle’s sensuality was too much. The two women kissed, each letting the other explore her with her hands.

“Onto the bed, my love,” Adelle whispered.

Eleanor, used to being in command, merely obeyed. She slid onto the mattress, then sat against the headboard.

“Allow me,” purred the beautiful young maid, and slid off Eleanor’s panties.

Now the female doctor was panting with desire. “Suck me,” she commanded, her voice deep. “Suck me hard?”

Strangely, Adelle’s mind went blank in that moment. “Yes, mistress,” she allowed. She knelt before the older woman, then gently spread Eleanor’s knees far, far apart. Eleanor’s vagina stared up at her, moist and glistening.

“Hey!” a naked Samuel exclaimed, climbing onto the bed and reaching for Adelle’s breasts. “Whadda ‘bout me?”

Adelle paused long enough to freeze him in a quick, deep kiss. “Fuck me from behind, my love?” she murmured.

Samuel’s eyes lit up. Walking on his knees, he positioned himself behind the hypnotized Frenchwoman.

Adelle held Eleanor’s gaze as the maid extended her tongue and connected it with Eleanor’s knee. Then, in one long motion, Adelle licked all the way down the inside of the female doctor’s leg, her lips coming to rest just over Eleanor’s vagina.

“Ohhh…!!!” the older woman cried, trembling with anticipation.

And then, Adelle lunged forward, attacking Eleanor’s genitals with her lips and tongue. Her female lover squirmed and kicked, and was forced to grip the headboard behind her for balance. Her body was roiled by spasms of oral pleasure. Eleanor felt her own thoughts wink out as an orgasm began to claim her.

As Adelle worked, she was aware of Samuel lovingly caressing her bottom. The young man took his time, fondling both buttocks, squeezing them gently, lifting them, then watching in delight as they bounced once he released them. Adelle’s tush was the bottom of a young, shapely woman, and he loved its lean size but round shape.

Adelle wriggled a little, causing that bottom to dance for him. Samuel beamed, hardly able to contain himself. On the other side of the bed, Eleanor was writhing in pleasure, her eyes closed, her wordless mouth wide open. Samuel wanted that same passion.

He gently pushed aside Adelle’s buttocks, overjoyed to see her anus and wet vagina waiting for him. Which hole to fuck?

Samuel was tempted to experiment, to try anal sex for the first time. Adelle would no doubt let him. She was hypnotized to squeal with joy no matter what he did to her. The opportunity was tantalizing.

But Samuel’s cock wanted Adelle’s pussy. There was no arguing with animal passion.

The young Oakwater gripped Adelle by the hips, pulling her back, just slightly. He leaned forward, just a little, and his rigid member was pointed at just the right angle. Adelle was waiting.

The first thrust was slow and careful. Both Adelle and Samuel moaned in ecstasy. Adelle paused for only the slightest moment, as Eleanor was close, very close.

Samuel allowed his eyes to close. He tasted that **_moment_** , that moment where a penis slips into a wet pussy for the first time. All men are different, but for Samuel, that first, slow insertion was the single best part of sex. One second, his cock was stiff and hungry and exposed in the cold air. And then, in the next, it was encased in something warm and wet and every nerve and pleasure center Samuel had was singing in joy. There were days when Samuel fantasized about inserting his cock into a wet pussy and just leaving it there to bathe, like a human body in a warm, bubbly bath. He murmured in delight.

But instinct overrode his brain, and suddenly Samuel’s hips were flying. Now his cock was diving in and out of Adelle, moving faster and faster with each gyration. Still licking Eleanor, Adelle groaned and leaned against her male lover, harder.

All three lovers were sweating and straining and gasping, feeling their bodies tremble and approach orgasm.

And then, Eleanor lost control. She half-screamed, half-sang as her vagina lit up and her juices flowed. Her cry excited Adelle and Samuel, and within a heartbeat, they were cumming, too.

All three lovers fucked and gasped, loving how their bodies celebrated the sheer joy of raw, mindless sex.

**** **** ****

The grandfather clock read half-past eleven.

Adelle squinted at the timepiece, dumbfounded. She was in the servants’ common room, feeling light-headed and scatterbrained. Her maid’s uniform chafed at her, as if she hadn’t put it on quite right.

 ** _Half-past eleven?_** How could that be? The beautiful young maid frowned, trying to organize her foggy thoughts. She’d just quickly popped in and out of the guest suite. Why, she remembered very clearly: At seven-thirty, she’d entered the suite, which was empty. She’d turned down the bed, drawn the bath, then left. The whole chore had taken less than ten minutes.

So how had all of that taken **_over three hours?_** Adelle paused, taking stock. She felt so odd, like she’d just woken from a deep, long sleep, and yet fatigued at the same time. In fact, she had the strange sensation of **_knowing_** one has had a very vivid dream, and yet being unable to remember any of it.

 _Ah, to hell with it_ , Adelle thought crossly. She was exhausted; no doubt her mind was playing tricks on her.

The young Frenchwoman crept into the maids’ sleeping quarters. Vivienne and Léonette were in their beds, sound asleep. Vivienne was snoring softly.

But to Adelle’s surprise, Thérèse was kneeling by her bed, her hands clasped in prayer. The head maid was in her long nightgown, a crucifix in her slender hands.

“Oh!” Thérèse mumbled in surprise when Adelle appeared. She quickly stood, embarrassed.

“Don’t mind me,” Adelle grunted, and staggered to her own mattress.

Thérèse looked worried. “Adelle… is everything alright? Can we talk?”

But Stockwood’s newest maid ignored her friend. She flopped down into her bed, not even bothering to remove her uniform. Within seconds, she tumbled into a deep, powerful sleep.

**** **** ****


	4. Dinner

The next day was a beautiful Saturday, the first full day of wedding preparations. Breakfast was served out on the veranda, and for once, all the Oakwater children agreed to attend at the same time. William, Samuel, Charlie Junior, and Hilda sat around the circular table. Baby Chuckie was strapped into a highchair, and poor Léonette was saddled with the hapless task of feeding him. Vivienne, Adelle, and William’s manservant, José, stood in attendance nearby, manning the breakfast trolley. Birds chirped merrily in the garden.

Charlie Junior poured syrup over his waffles. “Enjoy your **_suite_** last night?” he said in a barbed tone to Samuel.

“Ohhhh yeah, baby,” Samuel grinned.

Charlie Junior shot daggers at his brother. “You know, my family and I really could have used-“

“Ah, stow it, Big Man,” Samuel scoffed. “Ain’t my fault you and your fat missus are too slow.”

Hilda’s eyes bulged at the insult.

“You’re a prat, Sam,” snarled William, finally looking up from The Wall Street Journal. “A selfish, greedy prat.”

Samuel made a grand show of removing one of his stinky cigarettes and then lighting it. He blew a cloud of smoke across the table at William.

Adelle heard Vivienne sigh. “Its going to be a long day,” the other maid muttered, in French.

For no particular reason, Adelle glanced over at José. The skinny Mexican hadn’t spoken a word. But he meekly smiled back.

 _Seems like a nice fellow_ , Adelle thought absently.

Meanwhile, Wendy Viebeck appeared in the double doorway from the house. “Good morning, everyone!” Charles Senior’s fiancée beamed.

William, Samuel, Charles Junior, and Hilda all scowled in her direction. Baby Chuckie started wailing and emptied his cup of milk onto Léonette’s apron.

“Well, I do hope everyone is excited for today,” Wendy said, chipper. She helped herself to a plate and two pieces of toast, then sat next to William. “We have a full day planned, you know. The tailors and dressmakers are coming at ten o’clock, the caterers at noon, and the bakery men shortly after that. The wedding planner and all her assistants will be here after lunch, to walk everyone through the ceremony.” She cheerfully spread marmalade on her bread. “Oh, I’m so glad you four are here to participate!”

“Hmmgh,” pouted William. He glanced down at the floor, frowned even more, then snapped his fingers, twice. José, hurried forward, knelt, and tied the loose shoelace on William’s left shoe.

“Wedding planning activities are scheduled for **_all day?_** ” Charlie Junior asked, obviously resentful.

“And all day tomorrow,” Wendy informed him with a bright smile. The poor woman seemed oblivious to her future children-in-laws’ dark stares.

“The ceremony is to be in the Great Hall?” Hilda probed. “And Mr. Oakwater Senior… is attending?”

Wendy half-laughed. “Oh, my gracious, yes! We couldn’t invite our guests up to Charles’ suite, now could we?” She chuckled at her own joke. “No, it took some doing, but I convinced him to descend down from Olympus. Long enough for the nuptials, at least. Oh, won’t it all be fun? Why-“

Woolsby the butler appeared in the doorframe. “Telephone call for you, ma’am,” he said to Wendy. “A Mr. Drannet.”

“Ah, the florist,” Wendy commented to no-one in particular. “Excuse me, my dears, won’t be two shakes of a lambs’ tail…” She rose and swept back into the house.

The moment she was out of earshot, Samuel made a disgusted snarl. “What does Papa **_see_** in that dame?” he growled.

“She’s socially connected in Manhattan and Washington,” William replied dryly. “Papa apparently thinks he will be able to leave his suite and hobnob among high society.” He scowled, snapped his fingers, then pointed to his breakfast plate. José scurried to get him a grapefruit from the breakfast tray.

“You guys do realize,” Charlie Junior said, leaning forward, “that once they’re married, Wendy will go to the top of Papa’s will? Above us?”

The Oakwater children paused, grimly considering these words. Baby Chuckie began screaming louder and flinging his scrambled eggs in all directions.

**** **** ****

Breakfast was the most civil event of the day. Shortly after the tailors arrived, William and Charlie Junior got into an argument, which exploded into an all-out shouting match. Samuel, and then Hilda, joined the fray shortly after that. By lunchtime, Clan Oakwater were nearly at one another’s throats.

“Please, please, please, can we not fight?” Wendy begged for the umpteenth time. To no avail.

Adelle and the rest of the servants trudged along, hoping against hope that they might be sent on an errand – any errand – which might put them out of yelling range. The Oakwaters were savage to one another, and did not hesitate to take their bad moods out on the staff. Goodness knows what the tailors and wedding caterers thought.

Throughout it all, Adelle was aware that Samuel was watching her, a strange, yearning look in his eyes. It made her deeply uncomfortable.

**** **** ****

At half-past noon, the bakers were presenting their wares to The Family in the second-floor salon, a tall room with a great deal of Charles Senior’s naughty art of the walls. Mrs. Clatchet and Adelle were attending, watching the Oakwaters sample plate after plate of wedding cakes. Adelle hoped everyone had to sense to keep the confections out of the hands of Baby Chuckie.

To the young Frenchwoman’s surprise, Thérèse appeared from the corridor, and moved to stand silently beside Adelle. The head maid held her head high, but her beautiful face was drawn and joyless.

“Hey there,” Adelle murmured in French. “You escaped from the Master Suite?”

“Oh, I’m not assigned to the Master Suite anymore,” Thérèse said tonelessly.

Adelle couldn’t help but raise her eyebrows. “But why…”

“Girls!” clucked Mrs. Clatchet. The plump housekeeper jerked her head at The Family.

So Adelle held her tongue. She made a mental note to press Thérèse for gossip, later that evening.

**** **** ****

Perhaps in an attempt to end the day sooner, Wendy arranged for an early dinner, at five o’clock. Adelle and the wait staff found themselves racing to prepare the Dining Room while Mrs. Plumm fired up every oven and burner she had.

Of course, the bad-tempered Oakwaters were still feuding when they arrived for the meal. “You?” Charlie Junior spat contemptuously at Samuel. “You, a **_businessman?_** Oh, come on. Your brain is too addicted to refer to ever be able to manage a business.”

“I gots a business,” said Samuel, stung. “Well, I gots business associates who…”

“Boys, boys, please?” begged poor Wendy.

At the Dining Room’s far end were Adelle, Thérèse, and Woolsby, all fussing over the serving trolley. The soup and bread were ready, but nothing else. José stood nearby, silent.

Adelle became aware that as she and Thérèse were leaning forward in their work, Samuel and Charlie Junior were staring into the young women’s cleavage. She scowled. She hated the Stockwood maid’s uniform. Why did the Oakwater boys never act discreet? William never gazed at the maids, never.

“Blast!” Woolsby muttered under his breath. The old butler’s hands trembled; he was showing the stress of the day. “Miss Thérèse, go to the kitchen and check with Mrs. Plumm? We will need the hors d’Oeuvres and salads immediately, I fear.”

Thérèse nodded briskly. “ _Oui_ , _Monsieur_ Woolsby,” she acknowledged, and then was gone.

Meanwhile, William and Charlie Junior were still pillorying their brother. “I saw Papa’s business books,” William drawled. “You may have a business, Sam – doing God knows what – but you’ve racked up thousands of dollars with Papa’s law firm. Why do you need so many lawyers, anyway?”

“Mind your own beeswax,” was Samuel’s sullen reply.

William grunted in a dismissive way. He strode to the head of the table, claiming the throne-like chair that presided over the whole room.

“Hey!” Charlie Junior snapped. “That’s Papa’s chair!”

“Nuts to Papa,” scowled William. “If the crazy old man’s not fit enough to get out of bed, why should-“

“Not fit?” a deep voice rumbled. Everyone jumped.

Adelle looked up, astounded. There, looming in the double doorway, was a tall, wiry man in his mid-fifties. While his skin was pale and his back slightly hunched, this man still had great charisma. Perhaps it was the way his dark eyes shot about the room, sizing everyone up with a single, cold glance.

The man’s hair was bone-white and so long that it draped down his back. His face was lined with tight wrinkles, and those black eyes glinted underneath two bushy, snow-white eyebrows. The man wore a plain robe of gleaming red silk, which hung from his well-built shoulders and covered his entire body down to the floor. In one firm hand, he gripped a cane of polished oak, although it was clear he did not need assistance when walking.

It was all Adelle could do not to stare. This man could only be Charles Wilson Oakwater II… **_Charles Senior himself!_**

So **_this_** was the great Charles II! In all her time at Stockwood Manor, Adelle had imagined her reclusive employer to be… well, something else. From Thérèse’s description, she’d assumed that Charles Senior was frail and sickly and at death’s door. The man now framed in the archway was peculiar, to be sure. But other than his pale color, he looked the picture of health.

“Charles!” Wendy exclaimed, in both joy and relief. “You came downstairs!” She hurried to her fiancée’s side.

“Yes,” rumbled Charles Senior, the ends of his mouth dipping downward. His voice was deep and rich in texture. “Figured that if I’m to be married in the Great Hall, I should try to get out and see more of the house, eh?” His eyes narrowed as he glared at his three sons. “But maybe I should wait until we have more suitable guests.”

“Oh, Charles,” implored Wendy. She took the man’s arm. “Please, for my sake… Can we have one proper meal as a family?”

“Eh,” Charles Senior huffed. “Yes.” He scowled at William, Samuel, and Charlie Junior. “Yes, we can.”

William visibly swallowed. The eldest Oakwater brother rose from the head chair, then backed away.

Charles Senior moved to that chair, claiming it as his own. Wendy was quick to sit on his right. Then, with some reluctance, Samuel, Charlie Junior, Hilda, and finally William selected seats. William picked a chair furthest away from his father, and indicated it by pointing and then snapping his fingers. José glided forward, sliding out the chair for his employer.

Everyone was getting situated when another figure appeared in the doorway.

“Eleanor!” Wendy said in delight. “How wonderful you can join us!”

Indeed, it was Dr. Eleanor Vesper now striding into the Dining Room. The black-haired woman made a point to take Wendy’s hand and air-kiss both her cheeks.

“Yes, Mr. Oakwater and I were reviewing my project work,” Eleanor said vaguely. She moved to sit opposite William, which placed her as far away from Wendy as possible.

Adelle was stunned. _Charles Senior had spent the last few hours with his mistress before inviting her to a family dinner?_ That was brazen. Even more astounding was that Wendy seemed to have not the slightest inkling that her husband-to-be was cheating on her… on the very day she was trying to plan their wedding!

 _Don’t judge_ , the young maid reminded herself. _Being in service means absolute discretion for one’s employer._

“Reviewing your project work, I see, I see,” Wendy enthused. She beamed, apparently relieved to have any topic to distract from the day’s family drama. “Its so good of Charles to take an interest in your research, isn’t it? Er… what exactly is it that you do again? …state prisoner education?”

“We must begin the meal,” Woolsby whispered to Adelle. “I’ll serve the soup; you pour the wine. Then go to see if Mrs. Plumm and Thérèse need any help.”

The young maid nodded, picked up the crystal decanter, which was filled with a _Chateau d'Yquem_ white wine. Thérèse would no doubt approve. Adelle began working her way around the table, pouring the goblets.

“Prisoner rehabilitation,” Eleanor said, unfolding her napkin. “My research involves using hypnotism to help prisoners control their base instincts. The hope is that, once released back into society, they can live productive lives.”

“Hypnotism?” Hilda echoed, looking spooked. “How ungodly.”

“Ohm not at all,” said Eleanor smoothly. “My new techniques are quite effective.”

Was it Adelle’s imagination… or did Samuel sneak yet another lustful glance at her?

“I don’t get it, Papa,” frowned Charlie Junior. “Helping prisoners? Why? What does that benefit you?”

“Eh,” Charles Senior rumbled, looking down at his fingers. “You know… community… civic duty, and all that…” He shifted uncomfortably. “There’s a tax incentive,” he finally offered.

“Ah,” his youngest son replied. Apparently cheating on one’s taxes was the only rationale Charlie Junior could understand.

As Adelle reached for Charles Senior’s wine goblet, the Oakwater Patriarch glanced up, then latched his black eyes onto her. “Well, well, now…” he rumbled. “Whom do we have here, eh?”

The young maid froze as all eyes in the room were clapped upon her.

“Ah, this is Miss Adelle, sir,” Woolsby said quickly. “Our newest maid.”

“Yes, yes…” smiled Charles Senior. “Well then. Eh. Twirl around for me once, will you, girl?”

Adelle was mortified.

“Go on,” the Lord of Stockwood urged.

With little choice, Adelle set her wine decanter on the tablecloth, then stepped back and rotated in a full circle. She could feel her employer’s greedy eyes sweeping over her body. When she faced him again, he was grinning.

“Eh,” Charles Senior commented. “Very pretty, very pretty.”

“Oh, Charles,” Wendy said in a quiet, disapproving voice.

The senior Oakwater waved a hand, dismissing Adelle. With relief, she resumed the wine service.

“So, you were saying, Eleanor…?” Wendy said quickly, hoping to move the conversation along.

“Hypnotism,” snorted Charlie Junior. He had looked revolted by his father’s interest in Adelle, and now the contempt was thick in his voice. “That’s just carnival trickery, isn’t it? You wave a pocketwatch, say some hocus-pocus words, and a weak-minded fool thinks they are under a spell? Hogwash.”

“Ah, respectfully, no,” Eleanor said delicately. “In fact-“

“There you go again, Charlie,” William snorted, shaking his head. “Pretending to be an expert on something you know absolutely nothing about.”

Charlie Junior’s eyes blazed. “You think I don’t know anything, do you?”

“Boys, boys, please…” Wendy implored in despair.

William rolled his eyes. “I think you want to impress Papa with your so-called smarts,” he dismissively said to Charlie Junior. “Trouble is, kid, you’re dumb as a post.” To Hilda, he added, “You married my dumbbell brother for his money, right? ‘cause it wasn’t for his brains.”

Hilda’s eyes bulged. “I’ve been insulted too many times on this trip,” she huffed.

“Aw, shuddap, all of you,” Samuel growled. “You’re all a drag, man.”

“Oh, sure!” laughed William. “The drug freak who consorts with mobsters is lecturing us. Sure. In fact-”

“ ** _ENOUGH!_** ” roared Charles Senior.

Adelle nearly jumped out of her skin. The Elder Oakwater’s voice was harsh and boiling with anger.

The Family recoiled as if stung by bees.

“You think you sit on high to judge everyone?” Charles Senior barked at his oldest son. “You disgust me. You **_all_** disgust me,” he snarled, drawing his withering gaze upon Samuel, then Charlie Junior, then even poor Hilda.

Wendy was beside herself. “Oh, Charles, please…?”

The Oakwater patriarch ignored her. “What curse was thrust on me,” he demanded, “to be saddled with such **_ungrateful_** and **_arrogant_** children? You are all fools, such fools.”

William drew himself up, resisting this verbal assault. “Sir,” he said coldly, “I wouldn’t-“

“You know, after a near-death experience,” Charles Senior cut him off, “a man tends to take stock of his life. I looked at mine, and worried that **_not one_** of my offspring were worthy of the name ‘Oakwater.‘” He shook his head. “If my father knew how his offspring had disgraced our proud name…”

“You know, I think I should…” Eleanor murmured, then rose and hurried from the Dining Room. No-one paid her the slightest bit of attention. Adelle envied the fleeing doctor; it was torturous to stand in attendance and witness Charles Senior’s wrath.

“I thought,” the white-haired man continued, his voice bristling with scorn, “that surely I was mistaken, no? Surely my own flesh-and-blood had some redeeming qualities? Eh. I had to know.”

The Oakwater children became pale and still. Fearfully, Charlie Junior asked, “…what did you do, Papa?”

“I had you **_investigated_** , you foolish child!” growled his father. He shook his head in disgust. “All of you. For five months now, you’ve been watched by my private eyes. And I’ve read their reports, hoping that one of you, just **_one_** of you, might demonstrate some potential, some glimmer of a soul. But you know what I saw?”

The room was achingly silent.

“Nothing,” Charles Senior hissed. “You spend my money, live off my sweat, lead deplorable lives, and expect me to reward you for your horrible behavior.”

“You had no right…!” Samuel muttered in resentment.

“ ** _Are you lecturing your father, boy?_** ” exploded Charles Senior. “You, who throws thousands of dollars to drug dealers and common whores? And why are you driving up a fortune in legal bills? Because your so-called friends are mobsters and criminals, and you, foolish boy, keep allowing yourself to become their patsy. You should have been tossed in jail years ago.”

“And **_you_** ,” the Oakwater ranted, stabbing a thin finger at Charlie Junior. “You thought I wouldn’t find out about how you wasted your trust fund? Spending on what, cars and horses and wine and women. Oh, I know all about that. And how you borrow excessively to fund your lazy wife’s extravagant lifestyle? And the five trashy mistresses you support in Manhattan.”

Hilda turned bright red with humiliation.

“None of those girlfriend sluts are loyal to you, by the way,” Charles Senior said cruelly. “Smart girls. Unlike your thickheaded woman, here. She’s not faithful, either. I doubt Baby Chuckie is my grandson.”

“ ** _You horrible, horrible man!_** ” screeched Hilda, addressing Charles Senior. Then she leapt from her chair. She whirled about, smacked her husband across his cheek, then ran from the Dining Room, sobbing.

Wendy, her face in her hands, began visibly weeping in shame. And Adelle was cringing inside, wishing she could crawl under the carpet rather than endure this scene one moment more.

“And you…!” Charles Senior rasped, turning his vengeful stare upon his oldest son. “ ** _You!_** You are the most disgusting of all. Why, when I think of-“

William jumped to his feet, the color draining from his face. “ ** _Don’t you dare!_** ” he shouted in terror.

His father leaned back in his chair, his face twisted in contempt. “Get out of my sight, boy,” he growled. The words were quiet, yet simmering with anger.

Horrified, William strode from the Dining Room. He could not look at his father as he fled. José scampered after him. Then, also chastised, Samuel and Charlie Junior rose and exited. Charles Senior and Wendy were left alone at the great table.

“…oh, Charles…” Wendy moaned. “…dearest… why?”

“They disgrace the family,” her future husband said, his lip curling. “What was said tonight was long overdue, my dear. Long overdue.”

The master of Stockwood Manor picked up his soup spoon. “Woolsby,” he barked. “Where’s the roast quail? What’s become of service here?”

“Er… apologies, sir,” the butler muttered, then hurried off to the kitchen.

“Eh,” Charles Senior grunted to himself.

The old man’s black eyes strayed, coming to rest on Adelle. The billionaire and the maid gazed at one another, each keeping their thoughts to themselves.

**** **** ****

After his brief meal, Charles Senior retreated back upstairs to his suite. Only when he’d done so, was Adelle allowed to leave the Dining Room.

She discovered a Stockwood Manor in near-chaos. Hilda had thrown an epic tantrum, demanding that she and Baby Chuckie be returned to Manhattan immediately. Every footman in the house were lugging her hastily-packed trunks out to a waiting towncar. Stomping about the Great Hall, Hilda seemed to be screaming at everyone at once.

“ ** _Am I ready to go yet?_** ” she bellowed at Woolsby. “ ** _What’s taking so long???_** ”

“Your luggage looks, ah, nearly ready, ma’am,” the butler replied.

“ ** _Well hurry things up!_** ” fumed Hilda.

She spotted Adelle across the Great Hall.

“ ** _You!_** ” the fat woman screeched. “ ** _Go get Baby Chuckie! We’re leaving! Now!_** ”

Adelle needed no encouragement. The faster Hilda could be turned out of Stockwood Manor, the better. Idly wondering where Charles Junior was, the beautiful young maid hurried upstairs towards the Winchester bedroom-turned-nursery.

**** **** ****

Baby Chuckie was in no mood to travel. Adelle found him in his crib, yowling and throwing his stuffed animals.

“Come along, _Petit Homme_ ,” the young maid cooed, scooping Chuckie into her arms.

The baby shrieked even louder, thrashing and squirming as hard as he could.

Fighting a bad headache, Adelle hurried back into the corridor with Chuckie in her arms. She made for the Grand Staircase. It was a little after seven o’clock.

**** **** ****

“Oh, Adelle?” Mrs. Clatchet was approaching, looking haggard. Thérèse was with the housekeeper, carrying a laundry basket of linens from a stripped bed. Both women were exhausted. Adelle knew how they felt.

“Adelle, Mr. Oakwater wants you to bring him his evening brandy,” Mrs. Clatchet said hurriedly. “It was supposed to be served at seven sharp, but we can’t help that now. You know where we keep his spirits?”

Baby Chuckie started wailing at the top of his lungs. He struggled in Adelle’s thin arms with all his might.

Distracted by the infant, Adelle asked. “ _Monsieur_ Oakwater? Er, which one?”

“Mr. Charles Senior,” replied the housekeeper, not looking amused. “Your employer, dear.”

“Me?” said Adelle, dumbfounded. “ _Monsieur_ Oakwater wants me? Whatever for?”

“Saints be, I don’t know,” Mrs. Clatchet grumbled.

“Well, you’d better hurry,” Thérèse advised Adelle. “Charles Senior doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“ _Oui_ , but…” said Adelle.

Baby Chuckie let out a high-pitched scream, then vomited all over Adelle’s tiny dress.

“ ** _Agggh!_** ” Adelle exclaimed, aghast.

She held the baby at arm’s length, looking down at her ruined uniform in revulsion. “ _Fils de pute!_ How’m I supposed to serve brandy like **_this?_** ” Annoyed at circumstances, she glared at Thérèse. “Can’t **_you_** do it?”

“Oh no,” Thérèse balked. “Mr. Oakwater doesn’t want me anymore.”

“Heavens to Betsy, girls,” Mrs. Clatchet snapped. “What’s done is done. Adelle, take care of yourself, serve the brandy, then get off to the guest suite.” The harried housekeeper bustled down the corridor. “Hurry, hurry! There’s a lot of work yet to do!”

**** **** ****

After she returned Baby Chuckie into his mother’s arms, Adelle had no choice but to descend to the servants’ quarters for a change in wardrobe. She flew down the basement steps, hoping the oil lamps below were lit.

The young woman discovered Vivienne and Léonette in the servants’ common room, enjoying a forbidden cigarette break. When Adelle appeared, both of the other maids jumped, quickly hid their cigarettes, and tried not to look guilty.

“Hey!” Adelle exclaimed, annoyed at her colleagues.

But there were more important matters to address. “Eww…!” Vivienne said, wrinkling her nose at the stench of baby vomit on Adelle. “What happened to you?”

“Baby Chuckie,” groused Adelle. “You guys, I have to serve Charles Senior’s brandy! Its after seven! Whadda I do???”

“Com’on,” Léonette said, determined. She grabbed Adelle and hustled her into the maids’ bedroom.

**** **** ****

“Land’s sakes, the little brat got you good,” Léonette muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. “Strip everything off, you’ll have to get into a new uniform. Here, I’ll help.”

“I’ll get the new dress,” volunteered Vivienne.

Although it felt awkward, Adelle and Léonette peeled off every scrap of clothing Adelle was wearing. Somehow, Baby Chuckie had even gotten his stomach juices on Adelle’s petticoats and stockings. They all had to go. Soon, Adelle was completely naked, shivering slightly in the cool basement air.

“You still stink,” fretted Léonette. “Here…”

She hurried to the water basin, and snatched up a handcloth. The rag was quickly dipped in soap, then water. Soon, the maid was sponging off Adelle’s body, especially her chest and stomach.

“There, that’ll have to do,” Léonette muttered. “Now towel off! You’ve got to be upstairs already!”

**** **** ****

In less than ten minutes, Adelle was in a fresh uniform, hurrying back through the Great Hall. The Grand Staircase was a mere twenty feet before her.

“ ** _You!_** ” screeched Hilda, jabbing a finger at the fleeing young maid. Charlie Junior’s wife was still bullying Woolsby and the footmen, demanding that they rearrange all the luggage before her departure. But Adelle was not safe from her wrath.

“ ** _Adelle! Get over here!_** ” Hilda yelled. “ ** _Did you change Baby Chuckie’s diaper? WELL? Did you?_** ”

 _Pour l’amour de Dieu!_ thought Adelle in exasperation. She couldn’t get sucked into yet another errand; Charles Senior’s evening brandy was dangerously overdue.

“I will attend, _oui, oui, Madame,_ ” Adelle promised, already puffing her way back up the Grand Staircase.

“ ** _You get back here, little wench!_** ” Hilda thundered. Adelle simply ran. The footmen watched her escape with envy.

**** **** ****

The grandfather clock said 7:15. Adelle was fifteen minutes late!

The brandy cupboard was just outside the Master Bedroom Suite. Adelle unlocked it with the key she’d snagged from Woolsby, located a silver tray, empty glass, and a promising-looking brandy bottle that was half-full. Praying that Charles Senior enjoyed this particular brand, she locked up the pantry.

Then, the beautiful maid composed herself, counted to three, and knocked politely on the doors of the suite.

The doors weren’t latched, and swung open on their own. The interior of the suite was very dark.

What to do?

Adelle crept in, wondering if Charles Senior might be asleep. But she could hear someone moving about, stepping on the thick carpet. There was the rustle of clothing.

“ _Monsieur_ Oakwater?” the beautiful young maid called out.

Instantly, the other person stopped moving.

Adelle’s eyes were adjusting to the near-darkness. She was standing in a greeting-room, with an empty hearth, many stuffed chairs, and bookcases. A portrait of hawk-faced man in an old-fashioned suit hung on the nearby wall. Not far beyond, there were archways that led to other chambers… a bedroom or parlor, perhaps. The suite smelled stale, like baked food had been allowed to sit out too long.

“ _’ello?_ ” said Adelle loudly. “ _Monsieur_ Oakwater? I have your evening brandy, sir…!”

She squinted. Through the farthest archway, she could see a figure in shadow, hunched over somewhat.

 _This is ridiculous_ , thought the young maid. _I have to get back downstairs…!_

Beside her, there was a lamp. Adelle reached for the pull-chain. As she stepped, there was a soft crunch under her shoes.

At the same time, the figure in the shadows bolted, disappearing deeper into the opposite room. There was a crash, the sound of glass breaking.

Adelle snapped on the light. The greeting room illuminated.

There was a small, one-legged end table that had been knocked over and broken. A tall lamp had also been pushed over; the remains of the light bulb were crunching under Adelle’s shoes. Two of the room’s upholstered chairs had been shoved aside.

But at Adelle’s feet, Charles Wilson Oakwater II lay on the floor, completely motionless. His body was twisted and unnaturally rigid, and his clawed hands were clutching at his own throat. And while his eyes stared blankly into space, a tortured scream was frozen on his lips.

He was dead.

**** **** ****


	5. Murder and Aftermath

In complete horror, Adelle screamed. She shrieked as loudly as her lungs could manage.

At the same time, the terrified maid dropped her tray, backing up and colliding with the chair behind her. The corpse of Charles Senior grimaced, as if shouting in death.

Adelle’s nerves failed her. Even through she’d lived through the war, she’d never seen a dead body before. In shock, she turned and bolted from the room.

**** **** ****

Panicking, the beautiful young maid raced all the way to the top of the Grand Staircase, then screamed again. “ ** _HELP!_** ” she cried. “ ** _MURDER! HELP! HELP, HELP!!!_** ”

The sound of alarmed footfalls began to approach.

**** **** ****

“What is it?” William was the very first to reach the distraught maid. He appeared from a side corridor, dressed in an evening jacket and slippers, with a pipe and a book in his hands. The eldest Oakwater son looked over Adelle, shock in his eyes.

“ _Monsieur_ Oakwater!” Adelle babbled, beside herself. “I found him… I found him…” Unable to speak, she merely pointed towards the suite.

More people appeared on the landing to the staircase or from the hallway: Samuel, Woolsby, the footmen, Mrs. Clatchet, Charlie Junior, Thérèse, José, Eleanor Vesper. Harried questions crisscrossed the air.

“He’s **_dead!_** ” wailed Adelle. “ _Monsieur_ Oakwater is dead! Look!”

**** **** ****

The whole party pushed their way into the suite. Poor Charles Senior remained where Adelle had left him, frozen and locked in his death-pose.

“Oh… my God,” William said, thunderstruck.

There was a horrified silence as the group gazed down at the dead Oakwater patriarch.

“Oh, Charles!” Eleanor cried, dropping next to Charles Senior. She grasped one of the slain man’s hands, only to recoil in horror. “Oh, Lord! He’s so cold!”

Mrs. Clatchet, as if she couldn’t believe it, stooped forward and gingerly laid her fingers on top of Charles Senior’s other hand. “Oh, he is indeed!” she exclaimed, aghast, then shuddered.

“You killed him!” Charlie Junior suddenly said, stabbing an accusing finger at Adelle. “You **_must_** have!”

“ _Non!_ ” breathed the beautiful young maid. “ _Non_ , I came to serve his brandy! See?” She gestured to the tray, the shards of glass, and the puddle of alcohol on the floor, right beside the fallen lamp.

“But there was no-one else here,” Charlie Junior accused.

Adelle’s mind jolted back into rational thought. “Not true!” she protested. “I saw someone! In there!” She pointed to the opposite room, the same room where she’d spotted the dark figure lurking.

William approached the adjoining room, then cautiously poked his head inside. “There’s no-one here,” he said warily. “This is Papa’s bedroom, but there’s no-one in here.” He paused. “Hey! The mirror’s been broken!”

“ _Mon Dieu,_ ” Adelle moaned. “Then the murderer is hiding in the closet?”

William looked grim. “José,” he ordered, “come with me. We’ll search.”

Although José looked extremely unhappy about this, the two men disappeared into the bedroom. Everyone waited in suspense as they prodded about.

After what felt like hours, William and his servant re-appeared. “Empty,” the eldest Oakwater son sighed grimly. To José, he asked, “Find anything? Anything unusual?”

“One of Mr. Charles Senior’s drawers was removed and on the floor, _señor_ ,” José reported. He held up a handful of ladies’ undergarments: two brassieres, a pair of black stockings, at least two panties. “There are many more of these-“

Eleanor went bright red.

“Give me those,” snarled William, furious and embarrassed. He snatched the items, thrust it into his pocket, then slapped his poor manservant.

Adelle flinched. It was rumored that Charles Senior kept the unmentionables of his lovers. She found that she couldn’t bear to look at Eleanor.

“There’s no-one in the bedroom,” William half-growled, half-announced. “Hell, the carpet in here isn’t even disturbed.”

“But… But I **_saw_** someone,” Adelle insisted.

“Is it… is it possible that Mr. Oakwater expired naturally?” Mrs. Clatchet asked anxiously.

Adelle desperately wanted to believe that.

“No, look about,” Woolsby said heavily. “The furniture was disturbed. There was a struggle.”

“Oh Jesus,” groaned Samuel, looking sick. He swayed slightly on his feet, and his black cigarette tumbled from his fingers. The scent of pine and mint wafted through the suite. “Someone overpowered the Old Man, then threw him to the floor.”

“Look!” Charlie Junior cried. He stepped over the body, then knelt to reach under a chair. When he stood, all could see he was holding a plain white cloth; a cleaning rag.

“Its wet,” the youngest Oakwater said, then sniffed the cloth gingerly. “Yeech,” he gagged. “Poisoned!”

“How did you know that was there?” accused William.

“I didn’t!” Charlie Junior protested. “I just saw it!”

“ _Moi aussi_ ,” seconded Thérèse.

“And me,” said Eleanor.

William huffed, but said no more.

“Jesus,” Samuel moaned. “The killer grabbed Papa from behind, pressed the rag against his face, then wrestled with him as he died. That’s **_sick_** , man.”

The middle Oakwater brother wobbled, then staggered backwards. He collided with a couch, and sat down with a heavy thud.

“We must call the police,” Woolsby said heavily.

“No!” protested William. “We can’t-“

“ ** _Sir_** ,” the old butler countered, “the master of this house has been **_murdered_**. We are legally and ethically required to telephone the police **_immediately_**.”

William glanced at all the other people in the room. “Yes, but… This family is quite prominent, you know…”

Woolsby said nothing, but his stern face spoke volumes.

“Ah, very well,” William said crossly. “Call the damned police.”

“I’ll handle it,” Thérèse murmured. Her cream-colored legs flashed as she slipped from the room.

“What did you see?” Samuel, still on the couch, snapped at Adelle. The middle Oakwater brother was angry.

“I…” Adelle opened and closed her mouth. “I saw…”

She described everything she’d seen. She spent the most time when talking about the shadowy figure.

“Well, that could have been anyone,” Charlie Junior grumbled, disgusted. “I still say, Adelle, **_you_** must have done it.”

“Wait a minute,” said William, looking thoughtful. He turned to Eleanor. “You can do hypnotism, right?”

The female doctor rose from Charles Senior’s corpse; she looked wary. “Well… yes.”

William nodded. “Look, the police are coming, right? They’ll want to turn the house upside down, poke and prod everywhere. Papa wouldn’t ever want that.” He nervously glanced back into the bedroom.

The eldest Oakwater brother moved to stand beside Adelle. “Hypnosis can enhance a person’s memory, right? I’m certain I read that. So what if we hypnotize Adelle and look into her memory? We could learn who the killer is. That would make everything a lot simpler, wouldn’t it?”

 _Hypnotize me?_ Adelle thought in alarm. For reasons she didn’t understand, she felt dread.

Eleanor didn’t seem keen on this plan, either. “Even if Adelle here could identify the murderer,” she said reluctantly, “the police won’t just accept that as evidence.”

“So we do this in two steps,” William said impatiently. “First, Eleanor hypnotizes Adelle. Then, after Adelle tells us who the killer is, we seize and search them. The murderer will have to have evidence on their being, right? Traces of the poison, maybe scratches on their hands if Papa clawed at them, things of that nature.”

Eleanor looked uncomfortable. She glanced worriedly at Samuel.

“Whaddya looking at **_him_** for?” William demanded. “Look, if the police arrive and we can’t tell them who Papa’s killer was, we’ll all be suspects.” He paused for emphasis. “Anyone here looking forward to the Albany PD turning your life upside-down?”

**** **** ****

The oldest Oakwater insisted that the fewest possible people be present for Adelle’s hypnosis session. “We don’t want the killer to be tipped off,” he insisted. “So only Adelle, Eleanor, and me will go into the study to do this.”

“Why you?” Samuel wanted to know, immediately suspicious. “How do we know-“

“I’m the oldest, Sam,” retorted William. “I’m the executor of Papa’s will, so the house is now under me, get it?” He paused. “Hey, where’s Wendy? Does she know what’s happened?”

Everyone glanced about.

“I suppose Ms. Viebeck retired to a spare bedroom for an early lie-in,” Woolsby said, surprised. “She did find today to be quite… vexing.”

“Rouse her,” ordered William. “Tell her what’s happened. But don’t tell her what we’re doing in the study.”

Samuel still wasn’t satisfied. “I still don’t think that you-“

“Look,” the older brother almost exploded. “I’ve never before met Eleanor, and she’s never met me. We have no reason to work together. So she and I will keep one another honest.” He folded his arms. “That’s how this is gonna be.”

Thérèse appeared. “The police, they will be here in ten minutes,” she announced hesitantly. “They say to not touch… ah, _Monsieur_ Oakwater Senior.”

“Ten minutes, Jesus Christ,” William muttered. He nodded at Adelle and Eleanor. “Let’s get busy.”

**** **** ****

The study was in the north wing of the house. Adelle had never particularly liked it, mostly because once a week, she had to climb a wobbly stepladder to dust that enormous stuffed moose head which loomed over the brick fireplace. The little room was stuffy, claustrophobic, and **_always_** smelled musty. Adelle was certain she hated it even more than the poor moose did. Now, with the knowledge that she was about to be hypnotized here, the young maid loathed the study a tiny bit more.

Opposite the moose, was a framed black-and-white photograph: **_Stockwood Manor Construction Begins: May 4 th, 1893._** Mr. Oakwater Senior had loved his family’s history. Now finding herself glumly staring at that picture, Adelle could spot the place where the study would one day be.

“You can do this in ten minutes or less?” William growled to Eleanor, closing and locking the door.

The female doctor, still looking shocked over Charles Senior’s death, composed herself. She nodded. “Adelle, dear, sit,” she said, gesturing to an easy chair.

“Please, _Madame_ ,” the worried Adelle found herself saying. “I… I don’t-“

“ ** _Do_** it,” threatened William. “Or we’ll simply tell the police that you were the last person to see Papa.”

 _Oh,_ _merde_ , Adelle thought in despair. William was determined to have his way. So the poor French maid swallowed, then lowered herself into the chair.

“Look at me, dear,” Eleanor said firmly, leaning over Adelle. Was it the young woman’s imagination, or did the lady doctor seem slightly nervous? “Look into my eyes, please. You will **_relax_**. You will **_breathe_**. You will **_think inwardly_** …”

Her voice began to slither through the air…

**** **** ****

“That’s it?” William said, surprised. “She’s hypnotized?”

Adelle felt wonderful. Her eyes were closed, and she was unbelievably relaxed. Somehow, while Eleanor was speaking to her, all of the beautiful young maid’s stresses melted away. Her muscles turned into jelly, and soon she was unaware of her body entirely. Her thoughts, oddly passive, seemed a happy echo of whatever Eleanor told her. She wanted only to relax even deeper, and obey.

“She’s hypnotized,” Eleanor confirmed, sounding tired. “Do you have a cigarette?”

“The hypnotism happened so fast,” said William, impressed. “Adelle here seemed to be listening to you, and then… wow.”

“She’s an exceptional subject,” agreed the female hypnotist. Adelle heard the striking of a match, then a faint burning as flame met cigarette paper. “She goes so deeply that her subconscious mind can’t tell the difference between her own will and my commands. She’s mine.”

“Okay, okay,” William grumbled. “The clock’s ticking. Get on with it.”

“Adelle, honey,” said Eleanor, her voice now coated in honey, “I want you to think back… Even now, your mind is going back in time. When I snap my fingers, you will find yourself in the Master Bedroom Suite, shortly after you entered tonight. Ready?”

She clicked her fingers, once.

_Adelle was standing in the dim greeting-room of Charles Senior’s suite. The tray with the brandy was in her hands. She could see the shadows of the chairs, the bookshelves, the portrait of the old-fashioned man, the archways to rooms beyond. The room stank of stale bread._

“What do you see? Tell me,” commanded Eleanor.

In a dull, flat voice, Adelle found herself describing the room.

“Good,” Eleanor complimented. “Now, allow time to advance, just a little. In a moment, you will notice the person you saw in darkness, earlier tonight. Freeze the picture in that moment. Tell me what you see.”

_Adelle squinted about, wondering where Mr. Oakwater might be. She heard… rustling. The sound of shoes on a carpet. Another person breathing._

_“’ello?” she called out within the memory. “I have your evening brandy, sir…!”_

_And then, a black shape appeared in the archway to the bedroom. Adelle was startled._

_Time stopped._

“I see the killer,” the hypnotized maid murmured.

“ ** _Concentrate_** ,” urged Eleanor. “Study that person. Do you know who it is?”

_Adelle peered harder. The shape was standing within a shadow, and there was no light behind them to help with illumination. The young maid wasn’t certain where the outlines of the murderer’s shoulders or head or arms were. She was scrutinizing a blob of darkness, a person crouched forward a little bit._

“I have met this person,” Adelle heard her own voice saying. “They were in the bedroom when they heard me open the suite door. Now they are trying to hide.”

“Very interesting,” said Eleanor, not sounding interested at all. “But who is it, Adelle? **_Concentrate_**. Who is it?”

_Adelle frowned. The murderer had a trim body, and was light on their feet. They crept away in graceful footsteps, very mindful of how much noise they were making. For someone who had just killed another human being, they were remarkably focused and calm. Their breathing was careful and even._

“Well?” Eleanor demanded, impatient.

“I…” Adelle said in a drugged voice. “I can’t tell yet.”

Far away in the house, the front doorbell rang, twice.

“Shit,” grumbled William. “The police are here. We’re out of time.”

“If I can have another five minutes, we can enhance Adelle’s memory,” said Eleanor. “I think she-“

“No,” William objected. “No, this is taking too long. We have to be smarter.”

Irritated, the female doctor said, “So, what do you want to do, eh?”

“Forget this memory stuff,” replied William. “Adelle is under very deep hypnosis, right? So hypnotize her to believe that she’s Papa’s killer.”

“ ** _What?_** ” Eleanor said, shocked.

“Convince Adelle that she did it,” the oldest Oakwater demanded. “And now she’s having a crisis of guilt. Make her confess to the crime when the police interview her.”

“That’s **_monstrous_** ,” exclaimed Eleanor, appalled. “This poor girl will get the chair!”

William sounded firm. “Her? A sweet girl like her? Naw, they’ll deport her. Or just lock her up for ten years. Who knows? Who cares?” His tone sharpened. “But I can’t have the Albany Police investigating this family, you get me? It can’t be allowed to happen. So we throw them Adelle.”

“I…” the female doctor protested. “Wait a minute, here, I can’t…”

“Papa wasn’t the only member of the family who employed private eyes, Eleanor,” William said dangerously. “I thought it was odd when he started spending so much more time with you. Your research was never about rehabilitating prisoners, was it? No, it was about brainwashing innocent young girls, like our hypnotized friend here.”

Eleanor protested, “Wait a minute-”

“Papa funded your research so you could give him a houseful of mesmerized and willing bimbos,” accused William. ”And you were planning on getting rich by founding a prostitution ring with hypnotized actresses and models, all unaware that they were under your control.”

“That’s a lie!” Eleanor said savagely.

“No?” retorted William. His voice was cold. “My man tailed you for less than a month, Eleanor, and look at what he uncovered. You think you’ll escaped unscathed when the Albany Homicide Squad starts poking about in your life?” He made a snorting noise. “You have too many skeletons in your closet, my dear. The police are gonna make you Suspect Number One in no time flat. Unless we close down their investigation, now.”

Eleanor shifted her weight. She was thinking, fast.

“Perhaps we can make a trade, William?” she purred, her voice becoming sultry. “Adelle here is a sumptuous lover. I can have her-“

“I don’t want sex with the little minx!” William almost shouted. “All I want is to protect his family.” He grunted. “Its Adelle or you, baby. Choose.”

There was a pause.

The hypnotized Adelle drifted within her trance, hearing everything, caring about nothing. Her trance was so powerful, that everything her ears detected seemed completely ordinary. She felt nothing but happiness and surrender.

Adelle heard Eleanor exhale, then stab her cigarette into the ashtray with a quiet _pfft_.

“Adelle, darling,” the hypnotist said gaily, taking control of the maid’s thoughts. “Listen carefully. You will respond to my commands, and believe everything that I tell you to believe. Now…”

**** **** ****

Five minutes later, Adelle found herself obediently following William and Eleanor out into the Great Hall. The maid felt slightly light-headed, as if she’d recently woken from a bizarre, powerful dream, a dream that she couldn’t recall.

What had just happened? The confused Adelle wasn’t certain. Everything this evening had been a blur. She felt uneasy, out-of-sorts.

In the Great Hall were a small crowd of people: Samuel, Charlie Junior, Hilda, with Baby Chuckie in her arms. For once, Baby Chuckie was dead asleep, and drooling onto his mother’s coat. Wendy was off to the side, wrapped in a fuzzy white bathrobe and quietly weeping into a handkerchief. Woolsby and most of the servant’s staff were there, too. Thérèse gave Adelle a brief, concerned glance.

Everyone was standing about in a circle, facing inward. At the center of the gathering, Adelle could see two uniformed police officers, gawking at the Great Hall in wonder. The larger of the two men, a bulky young fellow with a babylike face and thick moustache, was holding a notebook. “Er…” he said, “now let me get this straight: one Charles Willum Oakwater-“

“Charles **_Wilson_** Oakwater,” Woolsby corrected him, annoyed.

“…Charles Wilson was found murdered, upstairs? How long ago?”

The denizens of Stockwood Manor muttered amongst themselves. “Oh, perhaps twenty minutes ago?” Mrs. Clatchet supplied. “It was poison, you can be sure of that.”

“We’ll ask the questions and make the determinations, thanks, ma’am,” frowned the officer. “Now, can someone show me the crime scene?”

**** **** ****

“Wowee,” the baby-faced officer exclaimed when he laid eyes on Charles Senior. “He’s dead, alright.”

Mostly everyone had returned to the Master Suite. The police had told Woolsby that they wanted to interview people with memories still fresh, so anyone who had seen the deceased Mr. Oakwater were instructed to stay close.

The cop’s partner scowled, then glanced at the shocked guests and servants of Stockwood. “Geez, Hanson, you wanna be more respectful?”

“Right, right,” Officer Hanson agreed, kneeling next to Charles Senior’s body. “Make a note of the time, Fred: 8:03 PM.”

The young officer leaned close to the victim’s grimacing face and sniffed. “Poison traces,” he announced. “Don’t know which kind, though.”

“You heard Dispatch,” the other policeman said. “Homicide is assigning Old Man Carpenter. So don’t-“

“I can inspect the body, can’t I?” Hanson frowned, straightening. “You know, if I wrap up this case, I could be on Homicide myself by this time next year.” He grinned. “Sounds nice, huh?”

Adelle found her gaze resting down on the dead Charles Senior. In life, he’d been a fairly horrible person, she knew, but…

A ravenous, gnawing guilt began to consume the beautiful young maid. She could remember it all so clearly: _The moment she’d slipped behind Charles Senior. The instant she’d struck, clamping the sickly-sweet rag against Charles Senior’s face. The muffled cries of panic he emitted as he struggled. The way he thrashed about; the ruthless determination she felt as she clung to him. The cold rage that washed over her as Charles’ body flailed, then stiffened, then froze. The sadistic triumph she felt once the old man was gone._ She remembered it all.

A tortured sob escaped Adelle’s mouth. Everyone turned to look at her.

“I’m so sorry!” the young maid wailed to the dead Charles Senior. Something had clicked in her mind, and she was completely unable to restrain her emotions. “Oh, _mon Dieu_ , please forgive me! I… I never meant…!”

Officer Hanson straightened, his eyes narrowing. “What’s this, ma’am?”

Overwhelmed, Adelle felt tears of shame spilling down her cheeks. “When I brought him his brandy, he was standing right there,” she babbled. “ _Mon Dieu!_ I found a cleaning closet, prepared a rag in cleaning solution, and…”

She let that sentence trail off.

A horrified silence descended upon all the Stockwood people. Woolsby, in particular, looked as though he’d seen the devil. And Thérèse stepped away from Adelle, both hands covering her aghast mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” wept Adelle. “ ** _I’m so sorry!_** ” Her guilt was crushing.

“Well,” Hanson said grimly.

The other police officer stepped forward, firmly grabbing Adelle by the arm. The young maid didn’t protest as her arms were pulled behind her. The handcuffs were cold and bit into her wrists.

**** **** ****

The jail in the basement of the Albany County Police Department was little more than three walls made from heavy cinder blocks and then black iron bars to enclose detention area. There were three cells. The other prisoners – two drunkards and a petty mugger – watched with fascination as Adelle was thrust into the empty woman’s cell. She was still in her tiny maid’s uniform.

The desk clerk stared at Adelle’s exposed chest, arms, and long legs. “Is this some kind a joke?” he finally asked Officer Hanson.

“Murderess,” Hanson said somberly.

“Oh,” the clerk responded, and his expression darkened.

The two men slid the jail door shut, and it clicked as it locked in place. Hanson went up the stairs; the clerk returned to the solitaire game at his desk.

Not knowing what else to do, Adelle sat on the wooden bench, staring at the cement floor. Her mind reeled. She could still remember killing Charles Senior. The memory was fresh in her mind…

Adelle frowned, confused. Actually, she couldn’t recall anything **_prior_** to the murder. Or after. If she hadn’t seen the body herself, she’d assume that the whole affair was a vivid nightmare.

And then, for no reason Adelle could place, she found herself recalling a voice… Eleanor’s voice…

 _…you will follow and obey…_ Eleanor had said. The words had felt beautiful and luring and irresistible.

Irresistible. _You cannot resist…_ Eleanor’s voice murmured.

With a jolt, Adelle’s mind snapped out of its funk. Like a house of glass, the hypnotic illusion that had clouded her will was shattered. **_She remembered everything_**.

The beautiful young woman cried out in horror. She clearly recalled how she’d fallen under Eleanor’s spell the first time, in the guest suite, and how she’d willingly given her body to the female doctor and Samuel Oakwater. She remembered every moment of the sex, especially how she completely believed that she was madly in love with the two lecherous fiends. And then, she remembered Eleanor hypnotizing her the second time and rigging her memories to believe that she’d killed Charles Senior…

A horrible despair gripped Adelle. She leapt to the bars of her cells, shaking them as hard as she could. “ ** _I’m innocent, I’m innocent!_** ” she screamed. “ ** _I was hypnotized! I didn’t kill anyone!!!_** ”

The desk clerk gave Adelle a hard look. “Save it, toots,” he said.

Immediately, the beautiful young Frenchwoman knew that absolutely nothing she could say would free her. Who would believe her?

Her spirit crushed, Adelle staggered backwards. She heavily dropped onto the bench, then pressed her face into her hands. And she sobbed.

**** **** ****


	6. Detective Carpenter

Adelle awoke with a start. She’d somehow fallen asleep while sitting up on the uncomfortable bench. Her bottom and neck ached. Her limbs were stiff.

The young woman squinted. The police station basement had no windows and was still illuminated by harsh electric lights. So everything looked exactly the same as when Adelle was first locked up. And yet, the beautiful young woman could sense that it was now the morning; upstairs, she could hear many people walking about and multiple conversations.

A door opened at the top of the stairs. “Detective? Detective Carpenter?” an eager young man’s voice said. Officer Hanson.

“Yeah?” replied a gruffer, older fellow.

“Detective, you saw the report from night watch?” Hanson asked, eager. “Well, we had a murder last night! Up at that big Stockwood house, if you can believe it!”

Adelle stiffened.

“Hold on, kid,” Detective Carpenter grumbled. “I wanna finish my coffee and read the report myself, thank you.”

“Sure thing,” Hanson demurred.

Her heart pounding, Adelle listened intently. Neither men spoke for a few minutes. The low mumble of other, more distant conversations filled the air.

“Huh,” Detective Carpenter finally said. “The maid dunit, eh?”

“Yeah, she’s downstairs in the pen.” His voice busting with pride, Hanson asked, “This could be it, right, Detective? This could be the case?”

“What case?”

“The case that gets me promoted to Homicide,” said the younger man, eager.

Carpenter didn’t respond right away. “It says here… waitaminute… the maid **_confessed?_** ”

“Yessir. Right in front of everyone!”

Adelle’s spirits nosedived. She wanted to weep all over again.

“She confessed?” repeated Carpenter, skepticism in his voice. “Hold on, hold on, tell me about this confession.”

Hanson related the entire chronology of the evening, ending just after Adelle’s hypnosis-inspired admission of guilt.

“Something don’t add up,” Carpenter grumbled. “Tell me something, kid: **_Why_** did the maid kill Oakwater?”

Hanson was caught off-guard. “Uh… She hated him?”

“That’s probably it,” Carpenter admitted. “Young girl, maybe with mental problems, rich guy who makes her scrub the toilets, maybe she feels jealous. That could sell. But before we give her to the DA, we need to lock down three things. What are they?”

Hanson fumbled the question. “Er, the time of the murder, right? And, uh, how it was-“

“Kid,” Carpenter interrupted, “you want to join Homicide? I keep telling you, and you don’t listen: _A little observation is everything_. Now, remember what I determine on every case. All murders have three core requirements: **_Means_** , **_opportunity_** , and **_motive_**.”

Adelle swallowed, listening very closely.

“ ** _Means_** we got,” Carpenter said. “Oakwater was poisoned, and I’ll bet a big house like Stockwood has a thousand household poisons. **_Opportunity_** we got. Oakwater was in his private suite, and the maid was able to waltz right on in. …but **_motive?_** ”

“Like I said, maybe she just hated him?” guessed Hanson.

“Maybe,” allowed the older man. But he sounded unconvinced.

“Detective, she **_confessed_** ,” Hanson argued. “I mean… she **_confessed_** in front of **_witnesses_**. What more do we need?”

“Simmer down,” said Carpenter. “Ah, you’re probably right. But I ain’t signing off on this and passing this case to the DA until we have every ‘i’ dotted and every ‘t’ crossed.” He exhaled. “If we can nail down motive, I’m satisfied.”

“Yessir,” Hanson replied.

Strangely, Adelle felt the slightest glimmer of hope.

“Where’s the girl now? In Lockup?” asked Carpenter. “Cuff her, then bring her up to Interrogation. I wanna ask some questions.”

**** **** ****

A few minutes later, Officer Hanson marched Adelle into a small, gray room up on Albany PD’s second floor. There was a heavyset man in his late fifties seated at a metal table, smoking a cigarette and pouring over an open file folder. Adelle could see typed forms and black-and-white photographs in the file. The man wore a faded suit, with a drab black tie that was ten years out of date. His hair was thinning, and there were huge bags under his eyes.

“Have a seat,” grunted the man, and immediately Adelle knew he was Detective Carpenter.

The beautiful young maid lowered herself into a folding chair opposite the detective. Officer Hanson made sure the door was shut firmly, then moved to stand behind his superior.

“Jesus,” said Carpenter, eyeing Adelle’s revealing uniform. “I gotta get me a maid.”

The young woman pressed her lips together.

Shrugging, Carpenter dove back into the file. “Adelle Lamarche,” he read, badly mispronouncing Adelle’s name. “Born September 20th, 1935, in Lalouvesc, France. Sponsored to enter the United States by one Charles Wilson Oakwater II, dated July 1st, this year.” The detective reclined in his chair. “So, Miss Lamarche… tell me all about your employer.”

“I didn’t kill him, _Monsieur_ ,” Adelle said quickly.

“No?” said Carpenter. “Last night, you said something very different.”

Adelle’s mind raced. She saw no option but to tell the naked truth… no matter how prosperous it sounded. What other choice was there?

“I was hypnotized, _Monsieur_ ,” she explained, desperate. “One of _Monsieur_ Oakwater’s guests, she is a hypnotist. She did… **_that_** to me, and told me that I would believe I was the killer.”

Carpenter’s frown deepened. He tapped his cigarette into a plain metal ashtray. “Oh, I see. You were hypnotized.” His voice was not enthusiastic.

Nonetheless, Adelle launched into a detailed description of what happened to her the previous night. She related entering the Master Suite, seeing the killer in shadow, then discovering Charles Senior’s body. She then described William’s plan to hypnotize her, including the scheme he and Eleanor hatched to frame the poor young woman.

Carpenter and Officer Hanson listened without comment.

“That is what happened, _Monsieur_ ,” Adelle insisted.

“I ain’t convinced,” said Hanson. “Last night, you sang a totally different tune.”

“ _Oui_ , because I was **_hypnotized!_** ” Adelle exclaimed. “I didn’t know what I was doing!”

Carpenter took a drag on his cigarette. “You got any proof?” he asked plainly.

Adelle stared at the older man, feeling trapped. She had to think of something, **_anything!_** But what…

An idea struck her.

“Tell me,” the beautiful young woman said delicately to Officer Hanson, “didn’t Mrs. Clatchet, our housekeeper, tell you that _Monsieur_ Oakwater’s body was… how do you say…?” Adelle faltered, cursing her limited English. “…er, stiff? Like wood?”

“Yeah,” Carpenter agreed. He gestured to the report before him. “We got that documented.”

“So _Monsieur_ Oakwater must have been dead for some time,” Adelle said hopefully. “Dead bodies, they do not, ah, stiffen immediately, _non?_ ”

Detective Carpenter drew on his cigarette again. “Typically, a body goes into _rigor mortis_ three hours after death. But…” And here the detective rechecked the case notes with a frown. “…we know that less than **_two_** hours before you found him, Mr. Oakwater was at dinner. So something else caused him to stiffen up. Probably the toxins in his system.”

Adelle felt her stomach flop. “Well…” she hemmed, “…the body was also cold, _mais oui?_ Do dead bodies instantly become cold upon death?”

“I’ll quote the report,” the detective drawled, inspecting the paperwork. “ _8:03 PM. The deceased Mr. Oakwater was cold to the touch when Officer Hanson inspected him, indicating an earlier time of death._ ”

“See, chief?” Officer Hanson said proudly. “Like you always say… _A little observation is everything_.”

“ _Oui, oui,_ ” Adelle said hastily. “But I mean, Mr. Oakwater was cold when I **_first_** found him and when I alerted the others. At 7:15?”

Carpenter said nothing, but reclined in his chair.

“I believe Ms. Vesper tell your officer that?” Adelle prodded.

Detective Carpenter swiveled to look up at Hanson, clearly expecting the young officer to answer the question.

“Uh…” Hanson said, then stepped forward to scan his handwritten notes. “Yeah… a Ms. Eleanor Vesper and a Mrs. Blanche Clatchet both said the body was cold when they first came into the room.”

“Then I couldn’t have killed _Monsieur_ Oakwater,” Adelle said, relieved.

The two policemen studied her quizzically.

Adelle explained: “Last night, before I go up to Mr. Oakwater’s suite, I must change my uniform. I am in the basement, and two other maids help me. They are with me the entire time. Then, I travel through the Great Hall, where Mrs. Hilda and several other servants see me. I **_immediately_** go into Charles Senior’s suite, find him dead, and then I scream.”

Detective Carpenter’s eyes widened in realization.

“So?” Officer Hanson said. “So you killed Mr. Oakwater quickly-“

“A body takes fifteen to twenty minutes to get cold,” Carpenter cut him off. He scowled, disgusted. “Hanson, the butler testified that Adelle here was in the Great Hall and three minutes later, she was screaming. Two minutes after that, the Vesper broad testified that the body was cold. That’s five minutes, total. Mr. Oakwater was already dead when Adelle was in the Great Hall.”

The detective glared at Officer Hanson. “Your murderess has an **_alibi_**.”

**** **** ****

Adelle had only ever taken the ride from downtown to Stockwood Manor once before, when she needed to file immigration paperwork at City Hall. She remembered how plain and modest the city seemed then. Today, with overcast and rainy skies, Albany looked even drabber than usual.

The young woman was sitting in the back of a police squad car. The handcuffs had been removed, and she had even been loaned a jacket that hung over her tiny shoulders. Carpenter drove, Officer Hanson sat in the passenger seat. Neither man spoke. Big band music played faintly on the scratchy radio.

The city quickly fell away, and then the squad car was pulling through the imposing stone and iron gates of Stockwood. Adelle shuddered as she saw the great house once more.

“You let me do all the talking,” Carpenter growled to Officer Hanson. “The morgue boys are here?”

“They were called last night to get the body,” Hanson replied. “Forensics are on the scene, however.”

**** **** ****

When he answered the door, it was hard to say what made Woolsby more astonished; the reappearance of Officer Hanson or the reappearance of Adelle. The butler gave her a cold, furious glare.

“Listen, Jeeves,” Carpenter told Woolsby in a no-nonsense manner. “We need to see the crime scene. Right away.”

**** **** ****

The Master Bedroom Suite’s greeting room looked quite different now. Adelle was stunned to see no less than six plainclothes policemen, all in inexpensive suits and white gloves, carefully picking over every object in the room. The spot where Charles Senior had died was now empty. Several high-powered electric lights had been set up on collapsible tripods, making the dingy room quite bright indeed. One of the policemen carried a portable camera, and even now, he was carefully setting up a shot of the floor.

“Mornin’, Bill,” Carpenter said to the oldest policeman. “Another day at the office, eh?”

“Hank,” Bill the Policeman nodded back in response. He scowled at Adelle. “Who’s this?”

“Witness,” replied Carpenter. “Turns out the maid **_didn’t_** do it.”

“Now, doll,” the detective instructed Adelle, “walk me through everything that happened last night.”

**** **** ****

Somehow word filtered through Stockwood Manor that Albany Homicide had returned. While Adelle was explaining how she’d seen the killer in shadow, William Oakwater suddenly burst into the suite.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his face red.

“Sir, I’m Hank Carpenter, Albany Homicide,” Carpenter said dourly, flashing his badge. “We’re conducting an investigation. I’m gonna ask you to step-“

“What is **_she_** doing here?” William interrupted his face twisting as he regarded Adelle. “You can’t poke and prod into my father’s effects, not with her!”

“Sir,” said Carpenter firmly, “step outside.”

William huffed, “I’m calling the family lawyers!” But he did withdraw.

“I always heard that the Oakwater family thought of itself as royalty,” Bill the Policeman said, shaking his head.

The comment spurred a thought in Adelle. What had Charles Senior said only yesterday? _If my father knew how his offspring had disgraced our proud name…_

The young maid, turned in wonder, now gazing at the portrait of the harsh-looking man which hung on the opposite wall. Now that she stared, she saw the family resemblance.

Of course! **_The portrait was of Charles Wilson Oakwater I._** Charles Senior’s beloved father.

It was as if Adelle could suddenly see the world with perfect understanding. She moved to the painting, gingerly reaching for the frame.

“Hey!” Bill the Policeman exclaimed. “What’re you-“

Adelle pulled at the picture, just a little. It wasn’t hanging on the wall, but attached with hinges. The portrait swung outward, like a cupboard door being opened.

Behind the painting, there was a black safe, built right into the wall.

“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Carpenter said flatly, as if he wasn’t actually surprised. To Adelle, he asked, “You knew that was there?”

“ _Non,_ _Monsieur_ ,” she said, and hoped the old cop believed her.

Carpenter moved to the safe, inspecting the spinning combination lock. Everyone in the room watched him with rapt interest.

“ ** _This_** is why the old man was killed,” the sleuth said with certainty.

“Yeah?” Bill the Policeman asked. “How are you so certain?”

“There’s an old saying among detectives,” replied Carpenter, still eyeing the combination lock. “ _Look for the secrets people keep; that’s why they get murdered._ ”

The heavyset detective eyed the safe as he put on his gloves. “Run and ask to use the house phone,” Carpenter instructed Officer Hanson. “Then phone the station, tell ‘em to get the safecracker out here.”

“You’re opening that?” Bill the Policeman asked in surprise.

“This is a murder investigation,” stated Carpenter. “We follow the evidence.” He glanced at Adelle. “You know who is in this painting, doll?”

“ _Oui, Monsieur_ ,” she replied. “Charles Senior’s father.”

Detective Carpenter rubbed his jaw. “I’m playing a hunch here,” he muttered aloud. “What dates would have been important to this man?”

Adelle’s mind flashed back to the framed photo outside the library: **_Charles Wilson Oakwater I opens his first coal mine. August 19, 1874._** And from the study: **_Stockwood Manor Construction Begins: May 4 th, 1893._**

“Try… 8, 19, 5, 4,” she said with a growing certainty.

Carpenter looked suspicious, and Adelle quickly told him about the photographs. “They’re elsewhere in the house,” she said lamely. “If you would like to see them…”

“Yeah, we’re gonna verify that,” the detective said, nodding at Officer Hanson, who took a note. “Okay, then…” He began spinning the dial. “8…”

Everyone waited in suspense as Carpenter worked.

“…and lastly, 4,” he announced, then pulled the safe’s latch.

There was a soft clunk, and then the safe door slowly swung open.

“I’ll be damned,” Carpenter said, pleased. He shot a glance at Hanson. “See? _A little observation is everything._ Maybe I should put Miss Adelle here on Homicide.”

Officer Hanson’s expression fell.

“Okay, quick, somebody get a photograph of the inside,” Bill the Policeman ordered.

Adelle craned her neck. The interior of the safe contained a cardboard document box, stacks of wrapped hundred dollar bills, and a revolver.

Carpenter waited until the photographer was finished, then grabbed the document box. He set it on an end table, then quickly began inspecting the contents. Inside the box, there were file folders, all thick with documents.

“Hey, Bill?” asked Carpenter. “You mind if I sit over there?” He jerked his head toward the couch on the far end of the room.”

Bill the Policeman glanced at his colleagues, then shrugged. “Over there is fine.”

Without a word, Detective Carpenter carried the box to the couch, sat down, and started reading. The other policemen continued their work.

**** **** ****

Adelle was now completely ignored. Not knowing what else to do, she stood off to the side, fidgeting. She dared not leave the room without an officer’s permission. And besides, she doubted she’d receive a warm welcome from the Oakwaters or Stockwood’s servants.

By unhappy coincidence, Adelle found herself standing approximately near the spot where she’d discovered Charles Senior’s body. The archway to the bedroom was just across the way, not ten feet from her. The young woman found herself studying that space now, and thinking back.

She’d seen the murderer, she’d actually laid eyes on the killer! If only she’d realized it at the time. Adelle sighed, wishing she could remember even the slightest detail.

Her mind wandered. What had Carpenter said earlier? _All murders have three core requirements: means, opportunity, and motive._

Well… that probably ruled out Wendy Viebeck. Wendy was absent when the body was discovered, and she was asleep in her bed when Charles Senior was killed. Plus, her marriage had never taken place, so she was not in the will. She lacked opportunity and motive.

Adelle chewed her lip. As much as she was loathe to admit it, it was unlikely Eleanor Vesper was the killer, too. Eleanor was financially dependent on Charles Senior to fund her perverted hypnosis research. Without his money, Eleanor was just a crackpot hypnotist lacking resources. Killing Charles Senior worked against her best interest. She had no motive.

Speaking of the women in Charles Senior’s life, Hilda Oakwater was definitely off the list. She hated her father-in-law, that much was certain, but she had been in the Great Hall holding a sleeping Baby Chuckie at the time of the murder. And Hilda was fat, very fat. There was absolutely no way the chubby woman could have been the dark, thin, and crouching shadow Adelle had seen in the bedroom. Nor could she have sprinted up the stairs to kill Charles Senior, then return back to the Great Hall. She lacked opportunity.

Hmm.

Thinking carefully, Adelle worked though more suspects. Woolsby? No motive, certainly. He had actually **_liked_** Charles Senior. Mrs. Clatchet? Like Hilda, she was too fat to be the killer. The other servants? Why would they kill and risk their own jobs? That made no sense.

Only three people seemed to be promising suspects: William, Samuel, and Charlie Junior.

All three knew Stockwood well and could have located a cleaning supply closet. **_Means._** All three knew where their father was after dinner, and could have escaped into the suite bedroom. And all three had the thin body that could have crouched into the dark shadow Adelle had seen. **_Opportunity._** All three were in the will, and all of them hated their father. **_Motive._**

But Adelle was uncertain. How did anyone ever solve a murder? It was so easy to see the case for and the case against when-

“Okay, then,” Detective Carpenter announced, jolting Adelle’s thoughts. “I was right; **_this_** is why Oakwater was killed.” He slipped the file folder back into the document box.

“Yeah?” Officer Hanover said, breathless.

Carpenter rose to his feet. “Assemble the family and staff downstairs. Let’s go and catch us a murderer.”

**** **** ****

Detective Hank Carpenter certainly had a flair for the dramatic. He commandeered the expansive map room, a large chamber with a central table, long leather couches, and framed charts on the walls. The Oakwaters sat on those couches, icy and resentful. Eleanor Vesper, who had stayed the night in a guest room, joined them. Woolsby, Mrs. Clatchet, and the entire service staff, plus José, lined up along the far wall. Everyone waited in dreadful suspense.

The homicide detective took his time. With the other policemen and Adelle in his wake, he assumed control of the center of the room. “Thanks, everyone, for coming,” he grunted, although he did not sound thankful in the slightest.

“What is going on?” demanded Charlie Junior. Hilda, holding a snoring Baby Chuckie, sat beside her husband, but refused to look at him.

“We’re all gonna have a little chat,” Carpenter announced. “I have some observations to make, and I want to judge everyone’s reactions. Get me?”

He paused. “Hey, where’s… what’s his name… Sammy? Samuel?”

Adelle blinked. She hadn’t noticed; Samuel was absent.

Woolsby cleared his throat. “Forgive me, sir,” he said stiffly, “but Mr. Samuel left, ah, quite abruptly. Not five minutes ago. He went to the garage-“

“Get the station on the horn,” Carpenter ordered Officer Hanson. “Put out an APB on Samuel Oakwater. To be arrested on sight. Get on it.”

Hanson nodded, then hurried out.

“Wait a minute, here,” William bristled. “You think Sam is Papa’s killer? What about **_her?_** ” And he stabbed a finger at Adelle.

“Miss Adelle is not the killer,” Detective Carpenter stated. “Let me be clear on that.”

The Oakwaters and servants all dropped their jaws.

“But we heard the little slut-“ Hilda began.

“Miss Adelle has testified that she was hypnotized last night,” interrupted Carpenter. “Ain’t that the case?”

No-one responded. But more than a few people snuck suspicious glances at a pale-looking Eleanor.

“In any event, Miss Adelle has an alibi, which we’re gonna verify in this room, right now,” Carpenter declared. “But first, let’s find Mr. Oakwater’s killer, eh?”

“This is outrageous,” growled William.

Carpenter took the document box from another policeman, then dramatically placed it on the table. “You know what this is?” he asked the room.

Once again, no-one responded.

“It seems,” the detective said, drawing out a thick file folder, “that Mr. Oakwater Senior had his misgivings about all of you. So he hired private eyes to tail you, watch you, learn any and all dirty little secrets about you. These are the PIs’ reports.”

The color drained from each of the Oakwater children’s faces.

“Let’s take Sammy, for a start,” Carpenter said lazily, opening and flipping through the file folder. “Sammy was into a lot of bad stuff. Prostitution rings, coordinating drug runners, publishing pornography and smut, business with the Mafia… lotta bad stuff.” He paused, still browsing. “But nothing in here proves he killed his father.”

Adelle wanted to kick herself. Samuel **_couldn’t_** be the killer! When the family had converged into Charles Senior’s suite, Samuel had been high… or at the very least, a little buzzed. Adelle remembered how the young man had trouble standing once he beheld his dead father. Besides, everywhere Samuel went, he spread the noxious stench of his horrid cigarettes. The smell oozed from his clothes. But Charles Senior’s suite had smelled of stale food on the night of the murder, not pine and mint.

Carpenter set aside the “Samuel” file, then drew out another.

“So whattabout the old man’s namesake?” the detective drawled. “Charles Oakwater III. According to this here report, Charles Junior here has a **_real_** hard time being faithful to his wife and kid. He also borrows money like crazy. I don’t understand a lot of these numbers papers, but I’d guess the IRS and maybe Fed commission would like to talk with Charlie boy about these wheeling and dealings.”

There was a pregnant pause as Detective Carpenter stared down the youngest Oakwater son, who did his best to look brave.

Adelle wondered: Had she seen Charlie Junior in the darkness? It was possible. She didn’t doubt that the man was capable of slimy things. Perhaps dreadful things.

Charlie Junior, seething, clenched his fists. “Nothing you’ve said proves that I murdered my own father,” he said defiantly.

“You’re right,” agreed Carpenter. “It doesn’t.” He leafed through the “Charlie” file, as casually as if he were perusing a magazine at the newsstand.

“In my experience,” the detective said, “people don’t become murderers just because they have low character or make poor decisions. After all, Charlie Boy, as disastrous as you are at finance, you always knew that your Daddy Moneybags would be there to catch you if you fell. You’re actually better off with your father alive.” He shut the folder. “I don’t think you’re the killer.”

Charlie Junior let out a long, wobbly exhale.

All eyes in the room now turned to William.

“But now, let us consider Oakwater’s oldest boy,” intoned Carpenter. “At first glance, the pride of the family, eh? The only one of Mr. Oakwater’s sons to go into business and actually make money. The only one to truly carry the Oakwater torch.”

The detective took out the “William” folder, which was quite thick. William himself sat quietly, trembling in either fear or rage.

“But it seems, Willy Boy’s investments ain’t doing so well,” Carpenter announced. “The diamond mine in Brazil? A bust. The expedition for oil prospecting in Australia? Even worse. And the miracle cure medical company he bought? A big scam. Turns out that William is teetering on the brink of bankruptcy.”

“So I killed Papa for his money, is that it?” the eldest Oakwater blurted out.

“You are the executor of his will,” Carpenter said levelly. “That is, until your father was about to get married. At that point, your new stepmother would be first.”

“There’s also some other coincidences which bother me,” the detective continued, his eyes boring into William’s face. “Adelle testified that **_you_** were the first person to reach her after she found Mr. Oakwater dead and screamed. So **_you_** were close by at the time of the murder. And it was **_you_** who insisted she be hypnotized to thinking that she was the killer. Why so keen to frame a maid, eh?”

“None of that,” William retorted, “proves that I’m the killer.”

“True enough,” said Carpenter. “But I’m saving the biggest secret for last. You had an extremely important reason for killing your father, didn’t you, William? You want to tell everyone here why you never married and had kids, like Charlie?”

William’s defiant glare melted. “No…” he whispered.

“You’re a deviant, Mr. Oakwater,” confronted Carpenter. “A sicko homosexual. And your lover is **_that_** man.” And he pointed at José.

All of the servants jumped. José, his eyes wide, shook his head in dismay.

“Care to deny it?” Carpenter rumbled. “Because there are photographs. Your father’s PIs were watching you from the hotel across the street from your condominium.”

“How dare-“ William tried.

“Sodomy is **_illegal_** , Mr. Oakwater,” the detective said, signaling the policemen. “Once you knew that your father learned of your disgusting perversion, you **_had_** to kill him, or risk exposure. Isn’t that right?”

“He made me do the homosexual sex! He made me!” José sniveled. “He blackmailed me, _s_ _í!_ He said that if I didn’t-“

“ ** _Silence, José!_** ” William shouted in desperation.

“William Oakwater, you are under arrest for deviant sexual relations and the murder of Charles Wilson Oakwater II,” Carpenter declared, cold satisfaction in his voice. “Boys, cuff these faggots. Both of ‘em.”

As William and José cried out, the police swarmed forward.

**** **** ****


	7. Adieu

The world of Stockwood Manor turned upside-down overnight.

William (and poor José) were whisked away to jail in no time flat. José was quickly deported back to Mexico, and counted himself lucky to have escaped. William’s ultimate fate was not so generous.

Samuel, who had less sense than Adelle gave him credit for, had tried to make a run from the law. In his panic, the foolish man had made a dash for it with only his sports car and the cash he happened to have in the glove compartment. As the New York State Police, and then the FBI, conducted a manhunt for him, Samuel hid out in a roadside motel for a few days. But then he got bored. He located a heroin dealer, shot up, and then smashed his roadster around a roadside boulder. Thankfully for his sake, he was killed instantly.

This left Charlie Junior the last surviving heir named in Charles Senior’s will. Hardly able to believe his evil luck, Charlie assumed ownership of Stockwood Manor, and then his father’s ample bank accounts. It was Charlie’s ambition to live like a king in the great house for the rest of his days. He wanted to pass it along to Baby Chuckie, when the time came.

Hilda was coaxed into relocating to Stockwood, but not into Charlie’s bedroom. The fat woman refused to see her adulterous husband, and so she and Baby Chuckie moved into the coveted Guest Suite. This gave all the servants a great headache.

Poor heartbroken Wendy Viebeck was turned away by Charlie Junior, and by that point, she wanted nothing more to do with the name Oakwater. She moved to Paris, becoming much happier as she continued on to her autumn years.

William Oakwater’s trial was a media sensation, which exposed Eleanor Vesper as an amoral manipulator. The National Guild of Hypnotists rushed to assure the public that Eleanor’s work was **_not_** credible and the success of her brainwashing techniques had more to do with the innocence of her victims than the reciprocating powers of hypnosis.

And Adelle?

After the murder, the trial, the newspapermen who hounded her, and the arrival of Charlie Junior and his family, the young maid decided that she had finally had enough of the world of the Oakwaters. She handed in her two-week notice to a surprised Mrs. Clatchet, then began making preparations to find a new position in New York City.

**** **** ****

It shouldn’t have surprised Adelle in the slightest when she learned that all the Stockwood maids were also quitting. “To think!” Vivienne exclaimed one night after the servants’ dinner. “Charles Senior hired us because we have sexy bodies and he wanted to hypnotize us to suck his cock! How disgusting, no?”

Adelle couldn’t argue.

Mrs. Clatchet pleaded with the young women, but all four had made up their collective minds. Their little rebellion felt good.

“You should come with me to Manhattan,” Adelle coaxed Thérèse. “There are many rich patrons who would hire a pair of experienced maids! Com’on!”

“Ah, no,” Thérèse murmured. For no reason Adelle could understand, her friend wouldn’t be budged.

**** **** ****

September 17th was the maids’ last day. In an act of solidarity, the four young women had conspired to all walk out of Stockwood Manor for the last time together. That afternoon, they changed out of their skimpy uniforms, switched to reasonable street clothes, and then threw themselves a mini-party in the servants’ common room.

“Look what I swiped from the kitchen!” Léonette giggled, unveiling two bottles of wine.

Adelle was slightly shocked.

“Oh, come now,” said Vivienne, already pulling out a cork. “This place worked us to the bone. Well except for lazy Thérèse here. I don’t think you handled a feather duster or vacuum cleaner all week!”

“Hey!” Thérèse protested. “I told you, I hurt my hand.”

“Aw, relax,” Vivienne smirked, smelling the bottle. “This was not a good job. I think we four deserve a little alcohol for our troubles.”

“Amen,” seconded Léonette, and passed out goblets.

After a few minutes, Adelle decided that her sisters were right; why not have one last drink on Charles Senior’s tab? It wouldn’t make up for the hardships she’d been put through… but she was unlikely to get any other compensation. So she filled her goblet, too.

The wine flowed, and soon the young women were laughing and making silly jokes. And all felt right with the world.

But Adelle’s smile faded when she noticed that Thérèse had left her goblet completely untouched.

**** **** ****

The skies were gray as Adelle exited the gates of Stockwood, carrying her two suitcases. She had already seen Vivienne and Léonette drive off in their taxi. But she wanted to make one more good-bye.

Half a mile from the Oakwaters’ manor was the local bus stop. Thérèse was sitting on the bench there, wearing a plain street dress, overcoat, and a shawl over her head. The former head maid smiled briefly as Adelle joined her. Adelle set her suitcases beside her on the ground.

“You know, the bus won’t be along for maybe an hour,” Adelle told her friend, using French. “You sure you don’t want to take that cab with me? When I called, the man on the phone said my driver will be here in another twenty minutes.”

“Ah, thank you,” Thérèse replied, “but the bus is fine.”

Adelle paused, studying the road before them, and the New York countryside beyond that.

“Why didn’t you have any wine?” she asked pointedly. “I thought wine-tasting was one of your guilty pleasures.”

Thérèse gave a small smile and a shrug. “Didn’t feel like it today,” she said.

Adelle gave her friend a hard look. “No, that’s not it, Thérèse,” she replied softly.

The other woman didn’t respond.

“You’re pregnant,” Adelle said levelly. “With Charles Senior’s child. Aren’t you?”

Thérèse’s lips thinned. She sat straighter and looked out at the distant green hills.

“I didn’t understand at first,” said Adelle, “because you hid your tracks so very well. But it was **_you_** I saw that night in the Master Suite. **_You_** were the one crouching in the bedroom. **_You_** killed Charles Senior.”

“I don’t know why you say this,” Thérèse said loftily. “Mr. William killed Charles Senior. We all know that.”

“No…” said Adelle, shaking her head. “He couldn’t have. Mr. William was a horrible person, true, but he couldn’t have committed murder. That man couldn’t even tie his own shoes or pull out his own chair. He was entirely dependent on everything being done for him. And I’m certain poor, sweet José wouldn’t have killed on his behalf. Mr. William had motive and opportunity, but he lacked means.”

“But you, you had all three,” the younger woman continued. “Charles Senior seduced you, put his seed in you, then cast you aside when you confronted him. You knew that your time at Stockwood was numbered, and because you were hurt, you wanted revenge. So you bided your time.”

Thérèse’s jaw tightened.

Adelle’s eyes narrowed. “You had means and motive. But you had to wait for opportunity, wait for a time when the whole house was distracted and you could commit the crime and escape safely. So when Mrs. Hilda threw her tantrum, and then you knew I wasn’t going to serve Mr. Oakwater his brandy right away, you grabbed a spare rag, soaked it in a cleaning solution or rat poison, and then entered the suite. Perhaps Mr. Oakwater thought you were me until it was too late?

“But I came upstairs sooner than you anticipated. When you heard me enter, you tried to hide in the bedroom. You were lucky that I couldn’t make out your face, but when you realized I was about to snap on a light, you dove out of sight. And you broke the mirror, cutting your hand.”

Adelle took Thérèse’s wrist and gently turned it. There, across Thérèse’s palm, was a fresh scar, perhaps three weeks old.

The eyes of the two women met. Neither reacted.

“Ah. This is why you haven’t been using the feather duster or any heavy tool,” Adelle said.

Thérèse yanked her hand back, hugged her own stomach, and stared furiously at the horizon.

“Later that night,” resumed Adelle, “after I sounded the alarm, and when we all were staring at Charles Senior’s body in a state of shock, you found the first possible excuse to leave the suite. You volunteered to call the police. And you did call the police… but not before bandaging your wound and cleaning off any physical evidence on your body. Just like Mr. William figured.”

There was a pause.

“Why, Thérèse?” Adelle asked softly. “How could the sweetest girl… whom I thought was my friend… how could she do such a monstrous thing?”

Thérèse didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was low and angry. “Perhaps a five weeks ago, maybe more,” she growled, “I went to Charles Senior’s suite, as always, to serve him his evening brandy. But that night, Charles Senior and Ms. Vesper were there, waiting for me. Ms. Vesper insisted that I sit in one of the nice chairs, then began speaking to me, speaking without stopping. I had to look into her eyes as she talked. Soon, I felt very strange. I couldn’t keep my own eyes open. Somehow, that evil woman put me into a bizarre, magical sleep.

“I didn’t realize it, at first. Ms. Vesper was talking to me, and all I wanted to do was obey her voice. I couldn’t resist anything she told me to do. I was her slave.

“When I woke, I found that I was madly in love with both Charles Senior and Ms. Vesper. I allowed them to remove all of my clothes, and then have their way with me. I eagerly made love to them. I called Mr. Charles my master. I allowed him to fuck me as much as he wanted.”

A lone tear rolled down Thérèse’s beautiful and haunted face.

“Later, when Charles Senior grew fatigued, Ms. Vesper put me back under her spell. She told me that I would forget all that had happened. But the next night, once I returned to the suite, I would once again be in her power. And I would return every night, to allow Charles Senior to… deflower me as many ways as he liked.

“Then… perhaps a month later… I woke up with an upset stomach. I saw my doctor. And when he told me I was with child, suddenly all the erased memories came back. **_I knew what Ms. Vesper had done to me._**

“And like a fool, I tried to confront Mr. Charles. That was the Saturday all the Oakwater children were at the house. In fact, the very hour when the bakers were sampling their cakes in the salon. I went to the Master Suite, told Mr. Charles that I knew what he was doing to me, and that I was now carrying his child.”

Thérèse’s voice caught. “He became so angry. He called me a greedy slut and a whore. Threatened to destroy me. And I begged with him, but he refused to listen.

“And then, Ms. Vesper appeared and put her under her spell once more. I tried to fight her, but she was just too powerful. She commanded me that I could never speak of any of this, no matter how hard I tried. I left the suite, broken and in disgrace.”

Adelle remained silent.

Thérèse angrily wiped away another tear. “What was I to do?” she asked bitterly. “Mr. Charles and Ms. Vesper had shamed me before God.” She crossed herself. “Mr. Charles was right; I **_was_** little more than his whore.

“So because I knew my soul was damned anyway, I decided to take revenge. When Mrs. Hilda created a scene later that day, I knew I could take advantage of the distraction. And so I did.

“When I entered the suite, Mr. Charles was alone. I had planned to surprise him, and then smother him with the poisoned cloth. But he spotted me first. I was lucky that he never suspected what I came to do. But before I could react, he used a… what did Ms. Eleanor call them? A trigger word on me. I fell back into a trance.

“ _’Go to the bedroom, and strip off all your clothes,’_ Mr. Charles ordered me.

“And God help me, but I responded, ‘ _Yes, master._ ’ I had to obey him. I went to the bedroom and stripped completely naked while he moved about the suite, turning off lights.

“But after I was naked, Mr. Charles’ instructions were completed. He’d forgotten to command me to do anything else! I found myself completely bare, but with my mind my own once more.”

“So you rushed him before he could trigger you again,” Adelle filled in, understanding now. “The two of you struggled, but you had the advantage.”

“I can still remember how he writhed for his life,” Thérèse said sadly, gazing down at her hands. “It was so horrible, Adelle… You can’t imagine.”

“You’re right,” the younger woman scowled.

Thérèse looked away. “As he dropped to the floor, I realized I had very little time to escape. I flew back into the bedroom…”

“…but only had time to put on your maid’s dress when I arrived,” Adelle finished. “When I screamed and fled, you knew you had barely seconds before people poured into the suite. So you cleverly shoved your stockings into Mr. Charles’ trophy drawer and hoped that no-one noticed your bare legs.” The younger woman shook her head. “I should have seen that.”

There was another tortured pause. Thérèse turned to look at Adelle.

“You know what the truly horrible part of that evening was?” the older woman said, her voice trembled. “The truly horrible part was when I thought **_you_** would be punished for **_my_** sin.”

Thérèse’s eyes were bright with tears. “Oh, I felt so sick with guilt that night! I tried to push myself to confess, to save you… but I was so afraid.” She tried to take Adelle’s hands in her own.

But Adelle scooted away, putting half a foot of distance between the two women.

Thérèse’s face fell. She lowered her head, murmuring, “Well… thank God that you are safe.”

There was a long silence. In the distance, thunder rumbled within the gray sky.

Wiping her eyes, Thérèse straightened. She cleared her throat.

“No doubt you still know how to contact _Monsieur_ Carpenter,” she said softly. “…so what will you do now?”

Adelle folded her arms. “Nothing,” she said flatly, and now she stared into the distance.

“Nothing?”

“I’m not qualified to be your judge, Thérèse,” Adelle sighed. “But what I want to know is… what will **_you_** do now?”

From down the road, a yellow cab approached. It slowed, then stopped. A middle-aged man with a beard and floppy cap stuck his head out the window.

“Hey,” he barked in English. “One of you ladies…” He checked a clipboard. “…Adelle Lamarche?”

Adelle raised her hand.

“Well, let’s go,” the cabbie said, annoyed. “Those your bags?”

“One moment,” Adelle told him sharply. Switching back to French, she asked the silent Thérèse, “Well?”

Thérèse sighed, an exhale of pain and misery. “At the end of this bus ride, there is the Sisters of Holy Mercy,” she replied in French. “A nunnery. I will join them. When my baby comes, I will give it up for adoption. And then, I will spend the rest of my days praying for the Lord to forgive my horrible sins. He will **_not_** forgive me… but I will pray all the same.”

“Hey, c’mon!” the cabbie snarled, in English. “Or am I leaving you?”

Adelle shot him an acidic look.

“ _Adieu,_ _ma amie_ ,” she murmured to Thérèse.

Then the young woman rose, hefted her suitcases into the cab’s backseat, and climbed in herself. The cabbie put the car in gear, and drove off.

**** **** ****


End file.
